[Full Audiobook] Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga, book 5) | Stephenie Meyer | Part 01 #twilight

This is [Music] Audible Haselt Audio presents Midnight Sun, written by Stephanie Meyer, read by Jake Abel. This book is dedicated to all the readers who have been such a happy part of my life for the last 15 years. When we first met, many of you were young teenagers with bright, beautiful eyes full of dreams for the future. I hope that in the years that have passed, you've all found your dreams and that the reality of them was even better than you'd [Music] hoped.

Chapter 1: First Sight

This was the time of day when I most wished I were able to sleep. High school—or was Purgatory the right word? If there were any way to atone for my sins, this ought to count toward the tally in some measure. The tedium was not something I grew used to; every day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last. Perhaps this could even be considered my form of sleep, if sleep was defined as the inert state between active periods. I stared at the cracks running through the plaster in the far corner of the cafeteria, imagining patterns into them that were not there. It was one way to tune out the voices that babbled like the gush of a river inside my head—several hundred of these voices I ignored out of boredom. When it came to the human mind, I'd heard it all before, and then some.

Today, all thoughts were consumed with the trivial drama of a new addition to the small student body. It took so little to work them up. I'd seen the new face repeated in thought after thought, from every angle—just an ordinary human girl. The excitement over her arrival was tiresomely predictable; it was the same reaction as one would get from flashing a shiny object at a group of toddlers. Half the sheeplike males were already imagining themselves infatuated with her, just because she was something new to look at. I tried harder to tune them out. Only four voices did I block out of courtesy rather than distaste: my family—my two brothers and two sisters—who were so used to the lack of privacy in my presence that they rarely worried about it. I gave them what I could; I tried not to listen if I could help it.

Try as I may, still I knew Rosalie was thinking, as usual, about herself. Her mind was a stagnant pool with few surprises. She'd caught sight of her profile in the reflection off someone's glasses, and she was mulling over her own perfection—no one else's hair was closer to true gold, no one else's shape was quite so perfectly an hourglass, no one else's face was such a flawless, symmetrical oval. She didn't compare herself to the humans here; that would have been laughable, absurd. She thought of others like us—none of them her equal. Emmett's usually carefree expression was crumpled with frustration. Even now, he ran one enormous hand through his ebony curls, twisting the hair into his fist, still fuming over the wrestling match he'd lost to Jasper during the night. It would take all his limited patience to make it to the end of the school day to orchestrate a rematch. Emmett's thoughts never felt intrusive because he never thought one thing that he would not say aloud or put into action. Perhaps I only felt guilty reading the others' minds because I knew there were things inside that they wouldn't want me to know. If Rosalie's mind was a stagnant pool, then Emmett's was a lake with no shadows—glass clear. And Jasper was suffering. I suppressed a sigh.

"Edward," Alice called my name in her head and had my attention at once. It was just the same as having my name called aloud. I was glad my given name had fallen out of style in the last few decades; it had been annoying in the past. Anytime anyone thought of any Edward, my head would turn automatically. My head didn't turn now. Alice and I were good at these private conversations; it was rare that anyone caught us. I kept my eyes on the lines in the plaster.

"How is he holding up?" she asked me.

I frowned—just a small change in the set of my mouth, nothing that would tip the others off. I could easily be frowning out of boredom. Jasper had been still for too long; he wasn't performing human ticks the way we all must—constantly in motion so as not to stand out—like Emmett pulling at his hair, Rosalie crossing her legs first one way then the next, Alice tapping her toes against the linoleum, or me moving my head to stare at different patterns in the wall. Jasper looked paralyzed, his lean form ramrod straight, even his honey hair seeming not to react to the air wafting from the vents. Alice's mental tone was alarmed now, and I saw in her mind that she was watching Jasper and her peripheral vision.

"Is there any danger?" she searched ahead into the immediate future, skimming through visions of monotony for the source behind my frown. Even as she did so, she remembered to tuck one tiny fist under her sharp chin and blink regularly. She brushed a tuft of her short, jagged black hair out of her eyes. I turned my head slowly to the left, as if looking at the bricks of the wall, sighed, and then turned to the right, back to the cracks in the ceiling. The others would assume I was playing human; only Alice knew I was shaking my head.

She relaxed. "Let me know if it gets too bad."

I moved only my eyes—up to the ceiling above and back down.

"Thanks for doing this." I was glad I couldn't answer her aloud. What would I say? "My pleasure"? It was hardly that. I didn't enjoy tuning into Jasper's struggles. Was it really necessary to experiment this way? Wouldn't the safer path be to just admit that he might never be able to handle his thirst as well as the rest of us could, and not push his limits? Why flirt with disaster? It had been two weeks since our last hunting trip; that was not an immensely difficult time span for the rest of us—a little uncomfortable occasionally if a human walked too close, if the wind blew the wrong way—but humans rarely walk too close; their instincts told them what their conscious minds would never understand: we were a danger that must be avoided. Jasper was very dangerous right now. It did not happen often, but every, every now and then I would be struck by the obliviousness of the humans around us. We were all so accustomed to it, we always expected it, but occasionally it seemed more glaring than usual. None of them noticed us here, lounging at the battered cafeteria table, though an ambush of tigers sprawled in our places would be less lethal than we were. All they saw were five odd-looking people, close enough to human to pass. It was hard to imagine surviving with senses so incredibly dull.

At that moment, a small girl paused at the end of the closest table to ours, stopping to talk to a friend. She tossed her short, sandy hair, combing her fingers through it. The heaters blew her scent in our direction. I was used to the way that scent made me feel—the dry ache in my throat, the hollow yearn in my stomach, the automatic tightening of my muscles, the excess flow of venom in my mouth. This was all quite normal, usually easy to ignore; it was harder just now, with the reaction stronger, doubled as I monitored Jasper. Jasper was letting his imagination get away from him; he was picturing it—picturing himself getting up from his seat next to Alice and going to stand beside the little girl, thinking of leaning down and in, as if he were going to whisper in her ear and letting his lips touch the arch of her throat, imagining how the hot flow of her pulse beneath the weak barrier of her skin would feel under his mouth.

I kicked his chair. He met my gaze, his black eyes resentful for a second, and then looked down. I could hear shame and rebellion war in his head.

"Sorry," Jasper muttered.

I shrugged.

"You weren't going to do anything," Alice murmured to him, soothing his mortification. I could see that. I fought back the frown that would give her lie away. We had to stick together, Alice and I. It wasn't easy being the freaks among those who were already freaks; we protected each other's secrets.

"It helps a little if you think of them as people," Alice suggested, her high, musical voice racing too fast for human ears to understand, if any had been close enough to hear her. "Her name is Whitney. She has a baby sister. She adores her mother. Her mother invited Esme to that garden party, do you remember?"

"I know who she is," Jasper said curtly. He turned away to stare out one of the small windows that were spaced just under the eaves around the long room. His tone ended the conversation. He would have to hunt tonight. It was ridiculous to take risks like this, trying to test his strength, to build his endurance. Jasper should just accept his limitations and work within them. Alice sighed silently and stood, taking her tray of food—her prop, as it were—with her and leaving him alone. She knew when he'd had enough of her encouragement. Though Rosalie and Emmett were more flagrant about their relationship, it was Alice and Jasper who knew each other's every need as well as their own, as if they could read minds too, but only each other's.

Edward.

Reflex action. I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn't being called, just thought. My eyes locked for half a second with a pair of large, chocolate brown human eyes set in a pale, heart-shaped face. I knew the face, though I'd never seen it myself before this moment; it had been foremost in every human head today—the new student, Isabella Swan, daughter of the town's chief of police, brought to live here by some new custody situation.

"Bella," she'd corrected everyone who'd used her full name.

I looked away, bored. It took me a second to realize that she had not been the one to think my name.

"Of course she's already crushing on the Cullens," I heard the first thought continue. Now I recognize the voice—Jessica Stanley. It had been a while since she'd bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she'd gotten over her misplaced fixation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams. I'd wished at the time that I could, could explain to her exactly what would have happened if my lips and the teeth behind them had gotten anywhere near her; that would have silenced those annoying fantasies. The thought of her reaction almost made me smile.

"Fat lot of good it will do her," Jessica went on. "She's really not even pretty. I don't know why Eric is staring so much, or Mike." She flinched mentally on the latter name; her new obsession, the generically popular Mike Newton, was completely oblivious to her. Apparently, he was not as oblivious to the new girl—another child reaching for the shiny object. This put a mean edge to Jessica's thoughts, though she was outwardly cordial to the newcomer as she explained to her the commonly held knowledge about my family. The new student must have asked about us.

"Everyone's looking at me today too," Jessica thought smugly. "Isn't it lucky Bella has two classes with me. I'll bet Mike will want to ask me what she's—"

I tried to block the inner chatter out of my head before the petty and the trivial could drive me mad.

"Jessica Stanley is giving the new Swan girl all the dirty laundry on the Cullen clan," I murmured to Emmett as a distraction.

He chuckled under his breath. "I hope she's making it good."

"He thought, rather unimaginative, actually. Just the barest hint of scandal, not an ounce of horror. I'm a little disappointed. And the new girl—is she disappointed in the gossip as well?" I listened to hear what this new girl—old Bella—thought of Jessica's story. What did she see when she looked at the strange, chalky-skinned family that was universally avoided? It was my responsibility to know her reaction. I acted as a lookout, for lack of a better word, for my family—to protect us. If anyone ever grew suspicious, I could give us early warning and an easy retreat. It happened occasionally; some human with an active imagination would see in us the characters of a book or a movie; usually they got it wrong, but it was better to move on somewhere new than to risk scrutiny. Rarely—extremely rarely—someone would guess right; we didn't give them a chance to test their hypothesis; we simply disappeared—to become no more than a frightening memory. That hadn't happened for decades.

I heard nothing, though I listened close. Beside where Jessica's frivolous internal monologue continued to gush, it was as if there were no one sitting beside her. How peculiar. Had the girl moved? That didn't seem likely, as Jessica was still babbling at her. I looked up, feeling off balance, checking on my extra hearing—it wasn't something I ever had to do again. My gaze locked onto those wide brown eyes. She was sitting right where she had been before and looking at us—a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, as Jessica was still regaling her with the local gossip about the Cullens. Thinking about us too would be natural, but I couldn't hear a whisper. Warm, inviting red stained her cheeks as she looked down, away from the embarrassing gaffe of getting caught staring at a stranger. It was good that Jasper was still gazing out the window; I didn't like to imagine what that easy pooling of blood would do to his control. The emotions had been as clear on her face as if they were spelled out in words: surprise as she unknowingly absorbed the signs of the subtle differences between her kind and mine; curiosity as she listened to Jessica's tale; and something more—fascination. It wouldn't be the first time we were beautiful to them—our intended prey. Then, finally, the embarrassment. And yet, though her thoughts had been so clear in her odd eyes—odd because of the depth to them—I could hear only silence from the place she was sitting—just silence. I felt a moment of unease; this was nothing I'd ever encountered. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did.

Worried, I listened harder. All the voices I'd been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

"Wonder what music she likes; maybe I could mention my new CD," Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away, focused on Bella Swan.

"Look at him staring at her; isn't it enough that he has half the girls in school waiting for him?" Eric York's thoughts were caustic and also revolving around the girl.

"So disgusting, you'd think she was famous or something; even Edward Cullen's staring," Lauren Mallerie was so jealous that her face, by all rights, should be dark jade in color.

"And Jessica flaunting her new best friend; what a joke," continued to spew from the girl's thoughts.

"I bet everyone has asked her that, but I'd like to talk to her; what's something more original?" Ashley Dowling mused.

"Maybe she'll be in my Spanish," June Richardson hoped. "Tons left to do tonight—trig and the English test."

"I hope my mom—" Angela Weber, a quiet girl whose thoughts were unusually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn't obsessed with this Bella. I could hear them all—hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds, but nothing at all from the new student with the deceptively communicative eyes. And of course, I could hear what the girl said when she spoke to Jessica; I didn't have to read minds to be able to hear her low, clear voice on the far side of the long room.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish-brown hair?" I heard her ask, sneaking another look at me from the corner of her eye, only to glance quickly away when she saw that I was still staring. If I'd had the time to hope that hearing the sound of her voice would help me pinpoint the tone of her thoughts, I was instantly disappointed. Usually people's thoughts came to them in a similar pitch to their physical voices, but this quiet, shy voice was unfamiliar—not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room. I was sure of that—entirely new.

"Oh, good luck, idiot," Jessica thought before answering the girl's question. "That's Edward; he's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time; he doesn't date—apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She snorted quietly.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me. Beneath the transient humor, I felt a strange impulse, one I did not clearly understand. It had something to do with the vicious edge to Jessica's thoughts that the new girl was unaware of. I felt the strangest urge to step in between them, to shield Bella Swan from the darker workings of Jessica's mind. What an odd thing to feel. Trying to ferret out the motivations behind the impulse, I examined the new girl one more time through Jessica's eyes. Now my staring had attracted too much attention. Perhaps it was just some long-buried protective instinct—the strong for the weak. Somehow, this girl looked more fragile than her new classmates; her skin was so translucent it was hard to believe it offered her much defense from the outside world. I could see the rhythmic pulse of blood through her veins under the clear, pale membrane, but I should not concentrate on that. I was good at this life I'd chosen, but I was just as thirsty as Jasper, and there was no point in inviting temptation. There was a faint crease between her eyebrows that she seemed unaware of. It was unbelievably frustrating. I could easily see that it was a strain for her to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense her shyness from the way she held her frail-looking shoulders slightly hunched, as if she was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet, I could only see, could only sense, could only imagine—there was nothing but silence from the very unexceptional human girl. I could hear nothing.

"Why?" Rosalie murmured, interrupting my focus.

I turned my mind away from the girl with a sense of relief. I didn't want to continue to fail at this; failure was a rare thing for me, even more irritating than it was uncommon. I didn't want to develop any interest in her hidden thoughts, simply because, as they were hidden, no doubt when I did decipher them—and I would find a way to do so—they would be just as petty and trivial as any human's—not worth the effort I would expend to reach them.

"So, is the new one afraid of us yet?" Emmett asked, still waiting for my response to his earlier question.

I shrugged; he wasn't interested enough to press for more information. We got up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper were pretending to be seniors; they left for their classes. I was playing a younger role than they; I headed off for my junior-level biology lesson, preparing my mind for the tedium. It was doubtful Mr. Banner, a man of no more than average intellect, would manage to pull out anything in his lecture that would surprise someone holding two medical degrees. I settled into my chair and let my books—props again; they held nothing I didn't already know—spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to himself; the humans weren't smart enough to know that they feared me, but their innate survival instincts were enough to keep them away. The room slowly filled as they trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass again. I wished I were able to sleep.

Because I'd been thinking about the new girl. When Angela Weber escorted her through the door, her name intruded on my attention.

"Bella seems just as shy as me," "I'll bet today is really hard for her. I wish I could say something, but it would probably just sound stupid."

"Yes," Mike Newton thought, turning in his seat to watch the girls enter.

Still, from the place where Bella Swan stood—nothing. The empty space where her thoughts should be vexed and unnerved me. What if it all went away? What if this was just the first symptom of some kind of mental decline? I'd often wish that I could have escaped the cacophony, that I could be normal, as far as that was possible for me, but now I felt panicked at the thought. Who would I be without what I could do? I'd never heard of such a thing. I would see if Carlisle had—

The girl walked down the aisle beside me, headed to the teacher's desk. Poor girl; the seat next to me was the only one available. Automatically, I cleared what would be her side of the table, shoving my books into a pile. I doubted she would feel very comfortable there; she was in for a long semester in this class, at least. Perhaps, though, sitting beside her, I'd be able to flush out her thoughts' hiding place—not that I ever needed close proximity before, not that I would find anything worth listening to.

Bella Swan walked into the flow of heated air that blew toward me from the vent. Her scent hit me like a battering ram, like an exploding grenade. There was no image violent enough to encompass the force of what happened to me in that moment. Instantly, I was transformed; I was nothing close to the human I'd once been; no trace of the shreds of humanity I'd managed to cloak myself in over the years remained. I was a predator; she was my prey; there was nothing else in the whole world but that truth; there was no room full of witnesses; they were already collateral damage in my mind. The mystery of her thoughts was forgotten; her thoughts meant nothing, for she would not go on thinking them much longer. I was a vampire, and she had the sweetest blood I'd smelled in more than 80 years. I hadn't imagined that such a scent could exist; if I'd known it did, I would have gone searching for it long ago; I would have scoured the planet for her. I could imagine the taste. Thirst burned through my throat like fire; my mouth felt baked and desiccated, and the fresh flow of venom did nothing to dispel that sensation. My stomach twisted with the hunger that was an echo of the thirst; my muscles coiled to spring.

Not a full second had passed; she was still taking the same step that had put her downwind from me. As her foot touched the ground, her eyes slid toward me—a movement she clearly meant to be stealthy. Her gaze met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the mirror of her eyes. The shock of the face I saw there saved her life for a few, few thorny moments. She didn't make it easier when she processed the expression on my face; blood flooded her cheeks again, turning her skin the most delicious color I'd ever seen. The scent was a thick haze in my brain; I could barely think through it; my instincts raged, resisting control, incoherent. She walked more quickly now, as if she understood the need to escape. Her haste made her clumsy; she tripped and stumbled forward, almost falling into the girl seated in front of me—vulnerable, weak, even more than usual for a human. I tried to focus on the face I'd seen in her eyes—a face I recognized with revulsion—the face of the monster inside me, the face I'd beaten back with decades of effort and uncompromising discipline. How easily it sprang to the surface now. The scent swirled around me again, scattering my thoughts and nearly propelling me out of my seat. No. My hand gripped under the edge of the table as I tried to hold myself in my chair; the wood was not up to the task; my hand crushed through the strut and came away with a palmful of splintered pulp, leaving the shape of my fingers carved into the remaining wood. Destroy evidence; that was a fundamental rule. I quickly pulverized the edges of the shape with my fingertips, leaving nothing but a ragged hole and a pile of shavings on the floor, which I scattered with my foot. Destroy evidence. Collateral damage. I knew what had to happen now; the girl would have to come sit beside me, and I would have to kill her. The innocent bystanders in this classroom—18 other children and one man—could not be allowed to leave having seen what they would soon see. I flinched at the thought of what I must do. Even at my very worst, I had never committed this kind of atrocity; I had never killed innocents, and now I planned to slaughter 20 of them at once. The face of the monster in my reflection mocked me, even as part of me shuddered away from him; another part was planning what would happen next. If I killed the girl first, I would have only 15 or 20 seconds with her before the humans in the room reacted—maybe a little longer if at first they did not realize what I was doing. She would not have time to scream or feel pain; I would not—

Kill her. Cruy that much. I could give the stranger with her horribly desirable blood, but then I would have to stop them from escaping. I wouldn't have to worry about the windows—too high up and small to provide an escape for anyone—just the door. Block that and they were trapped. It would be slower and more difficult trying to take them all down when they were panicked and scrambling, moving in chaos. Not impossible, but there would be much more noise, time for lots of screaming. Someone would hear, and I'd be forced to kill even more innocence in this black hour. And her blood would cool while I murdered the others; the scent punished me, closing my throat with dry aching. So the witnesses first. Then I mapped it out in my head. I was in the middle of the room, the row farthest from the front. I would take my right side first. I could snap four or five of their necks per second; I estimated it would not be noisy. The right side would be the lucky side; they would not see me coming. Moving around the front and back down the left side, it would take me at most 5 seconds to end every life in this room. Long enough for Bella Swan to see briefly what was coming for her. Long enough for her to feel fear. Long enough, maybe—if shock didn't freeze her in place—for her to work up a scream. One soft scream that would not bring anyone running.

I took a deep breath, and the scent was a fire that raced through my dry veins, burning out from my chest to consume every better impulse that I was capable of. She was just turning now; in a few seconds she would sit down inches away from me. The monster in my head exalted. Someone slammed shut a folder on my left. I didn't look up to see which of the doomed humans it was, but the motion sent a wave of ordinary, unscented air wafting across my face. For one short second, I was able to think clearly. In that precious instant, I saw two faces in my head, side by side. One was mine, or rather, had been—the red-eyed monster that had killed so many people that I had stopped counting, rationalized, justified murders. I had been a killer of killers, a killer of other less powerful monsters. It was a God complex, I acknowledged that, deciding who deserved a death sentence. It was a compromise with myself. I had fed on human blood, but only by the loosest definition; my victims were in their various dark pastimes, barely more human than I was.

The other face was Carlile's. There was no resemblance between the two faces; they were bright day and Blackest Night. There was no reason for a resemblance to exist. Carlile was not my father in the basic biological sense; we shared no common features. The similarity in our coloring was a product of what we were; every vampire was corpse pale. The similarity in the color of our eyes was another matter, a reflection of a mutual choice. And yet, though there was no basis for a resemblance, I'd imagined that my face had begun to reflect his, to an extent, in the last 70-odd years that I had embraced his choice and followed in his steps. My features had not changed, but it seemed to me as though some of his wisdom had marked my expression; a little of his compassion could be traced in the set of my mouth, and hints of his patience were evident on my brow. All those tiny improvements were lost in the monster's face, and in a few moments there would be nothing left in me that would reflect the years I'd spent with my Creator, my mentor, my father—and all the ways that counted. My eyes would glow red as the devil's; all likeness would be lost forever. In my head, Carlile's kind eyes did not judge me. I knew that he would forgive me for this horrible act because he loved me, because he thought I was better than I was.

Bella Swan sat down in the chair next to me, her movements stiff and awkward, no doubt with fear. And the scent of her blood bloomed in an inescapable cloud around me. I would prove my father wrong about me; the misery of this fact hurt almost as much as the fire in my throat. I leaned away from her in revulsion, disgusted by the monster aching to take her. Why did she have to come here? Why did she have to exist? Why did she have to ruin the little piece I had in this non-life of mine? Why had this aggravating human ever been born? She would ruin me. I turned my face away from her as a sudden, fierce, irrational hatred washed through me. I didn't want to be the monster. I didn't want to kill this room full of harmless children. I didn't want to lose everything I'd gained in a lifetime of sacrifice and denial. I wouldn't. She couldn't make me. The scent was the problem, the hideously appealing scent of her blood. If there was only some way to resist; if only another gust of fresh air could clear my head. Bella Swan shook out her long, thick, mahogany hair in my direction. Was she insane? No, there was no helpful breeze, but I didn't have to breathe. I stopped the flow of air through my lungs. The relief was instantaneous, but incomplete. I still had the memory of the scent in my head, the taste of it on the back of my tongue. I wouldn't be able to resist even that for long. Every life in this room was in danger while she and I were in it together. I should run. I wanted to run, to get away from the heat of her next to me and the punishing pain of the burning, but I wasn't—wasn't 100% sure that if I unlocked my muscles to move, even just to stand, I wouldn't lash out and commit the slaughter I'd already planned. But perhaps I could resist for an hour. Would one hour be enough time to gain control, to move without striking? I doubted it, then forced myself to commit. I would make it enough, just enough time to get out of this room full of victims—victims that perhaps didn't have to be victims if I could resist for one short hour.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, not breathing. My body did not need oxygen, but it went against my instincts. I relied on scent more than my other senses in times of stress; it led the way in the hunt; it was the first warning in case of danger. I did not often come across something as dangerous as I was, but self-preservation was just as strong in my kind as it was in the average human. Uncomfortable, but manageable; more bearable than smelling her and not sinking my teeth through that fine, thin, see-through skin to the hot, wet pulsing. An hour, just one hour. I must not think of the scent. The taste. The silent girl kept her hair between us, leaning forward so that it spilled across her folder. I couldn't see her face to try to read the emotions in her clear, deep eyes. Was she trying to hide those eyes from me out of fear, shyness, to keep her secrets? My former irritation at being stymied by her soundless thoughts was weak and pale in comparison to the need and the hate that possessed me now, for I hated this frail girl beside me, hated her with all the fervor with which I clung to my former self, my love of my family, my dreams of being something better than what I was—hating her, hating how she made me feel. It helped a little. Yes, the irritation I'd felt before was weak, but it too helped a little. I clung to any thought that distracted me from imagining what she would taste like. Hate and irritation, impatience. Would the hour never pass? And when the hour ended, she would walk out of this room, and I would do what? If I could control the monster, make him see that the delay would be worth it. I could introduce myself: "Hello, my name is Edward Cullen. May I walk you to your next class?" She would say yes; it would be the polite thing to do, even already fearing me as I was sure she did. She would follow convention and walk beside me. It should be easy enough to lead her in the wrong direction. A spur of the forest reached out like a finger to touch the back corner of the parking lot. I could tell her I'd forgotten a book in my car. Would anyone notice that I was the last person she'd been seen with? It was raining as usual; two dark raincoats heading in the wrong direction wouldn't pique too much interest or give me away. Except that I was not the only student who was aware of her today, though no one was as blisteringly aware as I. Mike Newton, in particular, was conscious of every shift in her wait as she fidgeted in her chair. She was uncomfortable so close to me, just as anyone would be, just as I'd expected. Before her scent had destroyed all charitable concern, Mike Newton would notice if she left the classroom with me. If I could last an hour, could I last two?

I flinched at the pain of the burning. She would go home to an empty house; Police Chief Swan worked an 8-hour day. I knew his house as I knew every house in the tiny town; his home was nestled right up against thick woods with no close neighbors. Even had she time to scream, which she would not, there would be no one to hear. That would be the responsible way to deal with this. I'd gone more than seven decades without human blood. If I held my breath, I could last two hours. And when I had her alone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt and no reason to rush through the experience. The mon—monster in my head agreed. It was sophistry to think that by saving the 19 humans in this room with effort and patience, I would be less of a monster when I killed this innocent girl. Though I hated her, I was absolutely aware that my hatred was unjust. I knew that what I really hated was myself, and I would hate us both so much more when she was dead. I made it through the hour in this way, imagining the best ways to kill her. I tried to avoid imagining the actual act; that might be too much for me, so I planned strategy and nothing more. Once, toward the very end, she peeked up at me through the fluid wall of her hair. I could feel the unjustified hatred burning out of me as I met her gaze, see the reflection of it in her frightened eyes. Blood painted her cheek before she could hide in her hair again, and I was nearly undone, but the bell rang, and we—how cliché—were saved. She from death, I for just a short time from being the nightmarish creature I feared and loathed. Now I had to move; even focusing all my attention on the simplest of actions, I couldn't walk as slowly as I should. I darted from the room; if anyone had been looking, they might have suspected that there was something not right about my exit. No one was paying attention to me. All thoughts still swirled around the girl who was condemned to die in little more than an hour's time.

I hid in my car. I didn't like to think of myself as having to hide; how cowardly that sounded. But I didn't have enough discipline left to be around humans now. Focusing so much of my efforts on not killing one of them left me no resources to resist the others. What a waste that would be if I were to give into the monster. I might as well make it worth the defeat. I played a CD that usually calmed me, but it did little for me now. No, what helped me most was the cool, wet air that drifted with the light rain through my open windows. Though I could remember the scent of Bella Swan's blood with perfect clarity, inhaling this clean air was like washing out the inside of my body from its infection. I was thinking again. I could think again, and I could fight again. I could fight what I didn't want to be. I didn't have to go to her home. I didn't have to kill her. Obviously, I was a rational, thinking creature, and I had a choice. There was always a choice. It hadn't felt that way in the classroom, but I was away from her now. I didn't have to disappoint my father. I didn't have to cause my mother stress, worry, pain. Pain, yes; it would hurt my adopted mother too, and she was so gentle, so tender and loving. Causing someone like Esme pain was truly inexcusable. Perhaps if I avoided this girl very, very carefully… There was no need for my life to change. I had things ordered the way I liked them. Why should I let some aggravating and delicious nobody ruin that? How ironic that I wanted to protect this human girl from the paltry, toothless threat of Jessica Stanley's snide thoughts. I was the last person who would ever stand as a protector for Isabella Swan. She would never need protection from anything more than she needed it from me.

Where was Alice? I suddenly wondered. Hadn't she seen me killing the Swan girl in a multitude of ways? Why hadn't she come to my aid, to stop me or help me clean up the evidence, whichever? Was she so absorbed with watching for trouble with Jasper that she'd missed this much more horrific possibility? Or was I stronger than I thought? Would I really not have done anything to the girl? No, I knew that wasn't true. Alice must be concentrating very hard on Jasper. I searched in the direction I knew my sister would be, in the small building used for English classes. It did not take me long to locate her familiar voice, and I was right; her every thought was turned to Jasper, watching his small choices with minute scrutiny. I wished I could ask her advice, but at the same time I was glad she didn't know what I was capable of. I felt a new burn through my body, the burn of shame. I didn't want any of them to know. If I could avoid Bella Swan, if I could manage not to kill her—even as I thought that, the monster writhed and gnashed his teeth in frustrated—then no one would have to know. If I could keep away from her scent, there was no reason I shouldn't try; at least make a good choice, try to be what Carlile thought I was. The last hour of school was almost over. I decided to put my new plan into action at once; better than sitting here in the parking lot where she might pass me and ruin my attempt again. I felt the unjust hatred for the girl. I walked swiftly, a little too swiftly, but there were no witnesses. Across the tiny campus to the office; it was empty except for the receptionist who didn't notice my silent entrance. Miss Cope, the woman with the unnaturally red hair, looked up and startled. It always caught them off guard, the little markers they didn't understand, no matter how many times they'd seen one of us before. "Oh," she gasped, a little flustered. She smoothed her shirt. Silly, she thought to herself, he's almost young enough to be my son. "Hello, Edward, what can I do for you?" Her eyelashes fluttered behind her thick glasses. Uncomfortable, but I knew how to be charming when I wanted to be; it was easy since I was able to know instantly how any tone or gesture was taken. I leaned forward, meeting her gaze as if I were staring deep into her flat brown eyes; her thoughts were already in a flutter. This should be simple. "I was wondering if—if you could help me with my schedule," I said in the soft voice I reserved for not scaring humans. I heard the tempo of her heart increase. Too young, too young, she chanted to herself. Wrong, of course; I was older than her grandfather. "I was wondering if I could move from my biology class to a senior level science of physics, perhaps. Is there a problem with Mr. Banner, Edward?" "Not at all. It's just that I've already studied this material in that accelerated school you all went to in Alaska, right?" Her thin lips pursed as she considered this. They should all be in college. I've heard the teachers complain. Perfect 4.0, never a hesitation with a response, never a wrong answer on a test—like they found some way to cheat in every subject. Mr. Varner would rather believe that anyone was cheating in trig than think a student was smarter than him. I'll bet their mother tutors them. "Actually, Edward, physics is pretty much full right now. Mr. Banner hates to have more than 25 students in a class." "I wouldn't be any trouble, of course." "Not a perfect Cullen. I know that, Edward, but there just aren't enough seats as it is." "Could I drop the class then? I could use the period for independent study." "Drop biology?" Her mouth fell open. "That's crazy. How hard is it to sit through a subject you know? There must be a problem with Mr. Banner. You won't have enough credits to graduate." "I'll catch up next year, maybe." "You should talk to your parents about that."

The door opened behind me, but whoever it was did not think of me, so I ignored the arrival and concentrated on Ms. Cope. I leaned slightly closer and stared as if I was gazing more deeply into her eyes. This would work better if they were gold today instead of black; the blackness frightened people, as it should. My miscalculation affected the woman; she flinched back, confused by her conflicting instincts. "Please, Miss Cope," I murmured, my voice as smooth and compelling as it could be, and her momentary aversion eased. "Isn't there some other section I could switch to? I'm sure there has to be an open slot somewhere. 6th-hour biology can't be the only option." I smiled at her, careful not to flash my teeth so white wildly that it would scare her again, letting the expression soften my face. Her heart drummed faster. Too young, she reminded herself frantically. "Well, maybe I could talk to Bob—I mean, Mr. Banner. I could see if—" A second was all it took to change everything—the atmosphere in the room, my mission here, the reason I leaned toward the red-haired woman. What had been for one purpose was now for another. A second was all it took for Samantha Wells to enter the room, place a signed tardy slip in the basket by the door, and hurry out again in a rush to be away from school. A sudden gust of wind through the open door crashed into me, and I realized why that first person through the door had not interrupted me with her thoughts. I turned, though I did not need to, to make sure. Bella Swan stood with her back pressed to the wall beside the door, a piece of paper clutched in her hands. Her eyes were even larger than before as she took in my ferocious, inhuman glare. The smell of her blood saturated every particle of air in the tiny, hot room. My throat burst into flames. The monster glared back at me from the mirror of her eyes—again, a mask of evil. My hand hesitated in the air above the counter. I would not have to look back in order to reach across it and slam Miss Cope's head into her desk with enough force to kill her. Two lives rather than 20—a trade. The monster waited anxiously, hungrily for me to do it, but there was always a choice; there had to be. I cut off the motion of my lungs and fixed Carlile's face in front of my eyes. I turned back to face Miss Cope and heard her internal surprise at the change in my expression. She shrank away from me, but her fear did not form into coherent words. Using all the control I'd mastered in my decades of self-denial, I made my voice even and smooth. There was just enough air left in my lungs to speak once more, rushing through the words: "Never mind, then. I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." I spun and launched myself from the room, trying not to feel the warm-blooded heat of the girl's body as I passed within inches of it. I didn't stop until I was in my car, moving too fast the entire way there. Most of the humans had cleared out already, so there weren't a lot of witnesses. I heard a sophomore, DJ Garrett, notice then disregard: "Where did Cullen come from? It was like he just came out of thin air." There I go with the imagination again; Mom always says…

When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there. I tried to control my breathing, but I was gasping at the fresh air as if I'd been suffocated. "Edward," Alice asked, alarm in her voice. I just shook my head at her. "What the hell happened to you?" Emmett demanded, distracted for the moment from the fact that Jasper was not in the mood for his rematch. Instead of answering, I threw the car into reverse. I had to get out of this lot before Bella Swan could follow me here too, my own personal demon tormenting me. I swung the car around and accelerated. I hit 40 before I was out of the parking lot; on the road, I hit 70 before I made the corner without looking. I knew that Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged. She couldn't see what had passed, only what was coming. She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised. "You're leaving," she whispered. The others stared at me now. "Am I?" I snarled through my teeth. She saw it then, as my resolve wavered and another choice spun my future in a darker direction. Oh, Bella Swan, dead; my eyes glowing crimson with fresh blood, the search that would follow, the careful time we would wait before it was safe for us to pull out of Forks and start again. "Oh," she said again. The picture grew more specific. I saw the inside of Chief Swan's house for the first time, saw Bella in a small kitchen with yellow cupboards, her back to me as I stalked her from the shadows, let the scent pull me toward her. "Stop," I groaned, not able to bear more. "Sorry," she whispered. The monster rejoiced, and the vision in her head shifted again—an empty highway at night, the trees beside it coated in snow, flashing by at almost 200 mph. "I'll miss you," she said, "no matter how short a time you're gone." Emmett and Rosalie exchanged an apprehensive glance. We were almost to the turnoff onto the long drive that led to our home. "Drop us here," Alice instructed. "You should tell Carlile yourself." I nodded, and the car squealed to a sudden stop. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper got out in silence; they would make Alice explain when I was gone. Alice touched my shoulder. "You will do the right thing," she murmured—not a vision this time, an order. "She's Charlie Swan's only family; it would kill him too." "Yes," I said, agreeing only with the last part. She slid out to join the others, her eyebrows pulling together in anxiety. They melted into the woods out of sight before I could turn the car around. I knew the visions in Alice's head would be flashing from dark to bright like a strobe light as I sped back to Forks, doing 90. I wasn't sure where I was going—to say goodbye to my father or to embrace the monster inside me. The road flew away beneath my tires.

Chapter 2: Open Book.

I leaned back against the soft snow bank, letting the dry powder reshape itself around my weight. My skin had cooled to match the air around me, and the tiny pieces of ice felt like velvet under my skin. The sky above me was clear, brilliant with stars, glowing blue in some places, yellow in others. The stars created majestic, swirling shapes against the black backdrop of the empty universe—an awesome sight, exquisitely beautiful. Or rather, it should have been exquisite; would have been if I'd been able to really see it. It wasn't getting any better. Six days had passed; six days I'd hidden here in the empty Denali Wilderness, but I was no closer to freedom than I had been since the first moment I'd caught her scent. When I stared up at the jeweled sky, it was as if there were an obstruction between my eyes and its beauty. The obstruction was a face—just an unremarkable human face—but I couldn't quite seem to banish it from my mind. I heard the approaching thoughts before I heard the footsteps that accompanied them. The sound of movement was only a faint whisper against the powder. I was not surprised that Tanya had followed me here; I knew she'd been mulling over this coming conversation for the last few days, putting it off until she was sure of exactly what she wanted to say. She sprang into sight about 60 yards away, leaping onto the tip of an outcropping of black rock and balancing there on the balls of her…

Bare feet. Tanya's skin was silver in the starlight, and her long blonde curls shone pale, almost pink with their strawberry tint. Her amber eyes glinted as she spied me, half buried in the snow, and her full lips stretched slowly into a smile. Exquisite. If I'd really been able to see her, I sighed. She hadn't dressed for human eyes; she wore only a thin cotton camisole and a pair of shorts.

Crouching down on a promontory of stone, she touched the rock with her fingertips, and her body coiled. Cannonball, she thought. She launched herself into the air; her shape became a dark, twisting shadow as she spun gracefully between the stars and me. She curled herself into a ball just as she struck the piled snow bank beside me. A blizzard of snow flew up around me; the stars went black, and I was buried deep in the feathery ice crystals. I sighed again, breathing in the ice, but didn't move to unearth myself. The blackness under the snow neither hurt nor improved the view; I still saw the same face, Edward. Then snow was flying again as Tanya swiftly disinterred me. She brushed the powder from my skin, not quite meeting my gaze.

"Sorry," she murmured. "It was a joke. I know it was funny." Her mouth twisted down. "Arena and Kate said I should leave you alone. They think I'm annoying you."

"Not at all," I assured her. "On the contrary, I'm the one who's being rude, abominably rude. I'm very sorry. You're going home, aren't you?"

She thought, I haven't entirely decided that yet, but you're not staying here. Her thought was wistful now. "No, it doesn't seem to be helping." Her lip pushed out into a pout. "That's my fault, isn't it?"

"Of course not," she hadn't made things easier for certain, but the face that haunted me was the only true impediment. "Don't be a gentleman," I smiled.

"I make you uncomfortable," she accused.

"No," she raised one eyebrow, her expression so disbelieving that I had to laugh, one short laugh followed by another sigh. "All right," I admitted, "a little bit." She sighed too and put her chin in her hands. "You're a thousand times lovelier than the stars, Tanya. Of course, you're already well aware of that. Don't let my stubbornness undermine your confidence." I chuckled at the unlikeliness of that.

"I'm not used to rejection," she grumbled, her lower lip pushing out into an attractive pout.

"Certainly not," I agreed, trying with little success to block out her thoughts as she fleetingly sifted through memories of her thousands of successful conquests. Mostly, Tanya preferred human men; they were much more populous for one thing, with the added advantage of being soft and warm and always eager.

"Definitely succubus," I teased, hoping to interrupt the images flickering in her head. She grinned, flashing her teeth. The original, unlike Carile, Tanya and her sisters had discovered their consciences slowly; in the end, it was their fondness for human men that turned them against the slaughter. Now the men they love lived.

"When you showed up here," Tanya said slowly, "I thought that I'd known what she'd thought, and I should have guessed that she would feel that way, but I'd not been at my best for analytical thinking in that moment. You thought that I changed my mind?"

"Yes," she scouted. "I feel horrible for toying with your expectations, Tanya. I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking. It's just that I left in quite a hurry."

"I don't suppose you'd tell me why?" I sat up and folded my arms across my chest, my shoulders rigid. "I prefer not to talk about it. Please forgive my reserve."

She was quiet again, still speculating. I ignored her, trying in vain to appreciate the stars. She gave up after a silent moment, and her thoughts pursued a new direction. "Where will you go, Edward, if you leave?"

"Back to Carlile? I don't think so," I whispered. "Where would I go? I could not think of one place on the entire planet that held any interest for me. There was nothing I wanted to see or do, because no matter where I went, I would not be going anywhere; I would only be running from. I hated that. When had I become such a coward?"

Tanya threw her slender arm around my shoulders. I stiffened but did not flinch from her touch. She meant it as nothing more than friendly comfort, mostly. "I think that you will go back," she said, her voice taking on just a hint of her long-lost Russian accent. "No matter what it is or who it is that haunts you, you'll face it head-on. You're the type." Her thoughts were as certain as her words. I tried to embrace the vision of myself that she saw, the one who faced things head-on. It was pleasant to think of myself that way again. I'd never doubted my courage, my ability to face difficulty before that horrible hour in a high school biology class, such a short time ago. I kissed her cheek, pulling back swiftly when she twisted her face toward mine. She smiled, rueful at my quickness.

"Thank you, Tanya. I needed to hear that."

Her thoughts turned petulant. "You're welcome, I guess. I wish you would be more reasonable about things, Edward."

"I'm sorry, Tanya. You know you're far too good for me. I just haven't found what I'm looking for yet."

"Well, if you leave before I see you again, goodbye, Edward."

"Goodbye, Tanya." As I said the words, I could see it; I could see myself leaving, being strong enough to go back to the one place I wanted to be again.

"Thank you." She was on her feet in one nimble move, and then she was running away, ghosting across the snow so quickly that her feet had no time to sink in. She left no prints behind her; she didn't look back. My rejection bothered her more than she'd let on before, even in her thoughts. She wouldn't want to see me again before I left. My mouth twisted downward. I didn't like hurting Tanya, though her feelings were not deep, hardly pure, and in any case, not something I could return; it still made me feel less than a gentleman. I put my chin on my knees and stared up at the stars again, though I was suddenly anxious to be on my way. I knew that Alice would see me coming home; that she would tell the others. This would make them happy, Carlile and Esme especially. But I gazed at the stars for one more moment, trying to see the face in my head, between me and the brilliant lights in the sky. A pair of bewildered chocolate brown eyes wandered at my motives, seeming to ask what this decision would mean for her. Of course, I couldn't be sure that was really the information her curious eyes sought; even in my imagination, I couldn't hear her thoughts. Bella Swan's eyes continued to question, and an unobstructed view of the stars continued to elude me. With a heavy sigh, I gave up and got to my feet. If I ran, I would be back to Carlisle's car in less than an hour. In a hurry to see my family and wanting very much to be the Edward who faced things head-on, I raced across the starlit snowfield, leaving no footprints.

"It's going to be okay," Alice breathed. Her eyes were unfocused, and Jasper had one hand lightly under her elbow, guiding her forward as we walked into the rundown cafeteria in a close, huddled group. Rosalie and Emmett led the way, Emmett looking ridiculously like a bodyguard in the middle of a hostile territory. Rose looked wary too, but much more irritated than protective.

"Of course it is," I grumbled. Their behavior was ludicrous. If I weren't positive that I could handle this moment, I would have stayed home. The sudden shift from our normal, even playful morning. It had snowed in the night, and Emmett and Jasper were not above taking advantage of my distraction to bombard me with slush balls. When they got bored with my lack of response, they turned on each other. This overdone vigilance would have been comical if it weren't so irritating. "She's not here yet, but the way she's going to come in, she won't be downwind if we sit in our regular spot. Of course we'll sit in our regular spot. Stop it, Alice, you're getting on my nerves. I'll be absolutely fine."

She blinked once as Jasper helped her into her seat, and her eyes finally focused on my face. "Hm," she said, sounding surprised. "I think you're right."

"Of course I am," I muttered. I hated being the focus of their concern. I felt a sudden sympathy for Jasper, remembering all the times we'd hovered protectively over him. He met my glance briefly and grinned. "Annoying, isn't it?"

I glowed at him. Was it just last week that this long, drab room had seemed so killingly dull to me, that it had seemed almost like sleep, like a coma? To be here today, my nerves were stretched tight, piano wires tense to sing at the lightest pressure. My senses were hyper-alert. I scanned every sound, every sight, every movement of the air that touched my skin, every thought, especially the thoughts. There was only one sense that I kept locked down, refused to use: smell. Of course, I didn't breathe. I was expecting to hear more about the Cullens and the thoughts that I sifted through all day. I'd been waiting, searching for whichever new acquaintance Bella Swan might have confided in, trying to see the direction the new gossip would take, but there was nothing. No one particularly noticed the five vampires in the cafeteria, just as before. The girl had come; several of the humans here were still thinking of her, still thinking the same thoughts from last week. Instead of finding this unutterably boring, I was fascinated. Had she said nothing to anyone about me? There was no way she had not noticed my black, murderous glare. I had seen her react to it; surely I traumatized her. I was convinced that she would have mentioned it to someone, maybe even have exaggerated the story a bit to make it better, given me a few menacing lines. And then she'd also heard me trying to get out of our shared biology class. She must have wondered, after seeing my expression, whether she was the cause. A normal girl would have asked around, compared her experience to others, looked for common ground that would explain my behavior so she didn't feel singled out. Humans were constantly desperate to feel normal, to fit in, to blend in with everyone else around them, like a featureless flock of sheep. The need was particularly strong during the insecure adolescent years. This girl would be no exception to that rule. But no one at all took notice of us sitting here at our usual table. Must be exceptionally shy, if she hadn't confided in anyone. Perhaps she had spoken to her father; maybe that was the strongest relationship, though that seemed unlikely given that she had spent so little time with him throughout her life. She would be closer to her mother. Still, I would have to pass by Chief Swan sometime soon and listen to what he was thinking.

"Anything new?" Jasper asked.

I concentrated, allowing all the swarms of thoughts to invade my mind again. There wasn't anything that stood out; no one was thinking of us, despite my earlier worries. It didn't seem that there was anything wrong with my abilities, aside from the silent girl. I'd shared my concerns with Carlisle upon my return, but he had only ever heard of talents growing stronger with practice; never did they atrophy.

Jasper waited impatiently. "Nothing. She must not have said anything."

All of them raised eyebrows at this news.

"Maybe you're not as scary as you think you are," Emmett said, chuckling.

"I bet I could have frightened her better than that," I rolled my eyes at him.

"Wonder why?" he puzzled again over my revelation about the girl's unique silence.

"We've been over that. I don't know. She's coming in," Alice murmured. Then my body froze. "Try to look human."

"Human, you say?" Emmett asked. He held up his right fist, twisting his fingers to reveal the snowball he'd saved in his palm. It had not melted; he'd squeezed it into a lumpy block of ice. He had his eyes on Jasper, but I saw the direction of his thoughts, so did Alice, of course. When he abruptly hurled the ice chunk at her, she flicked it away with a casual flutter of her fingers. The ice ricocheted across the length of the cafeteria, too fast to be visible to human eyes, and shattered with a sharp crack against the brick wall. The brick cracked too. The heads in that corner of the room all turned to stare at the pile of broken ice on the floor and then swiveled to find the culprit. They didn't look farther than a few tables away; no one looked at us.

"Very human," Emmett.

"Rosalie said scathingly, 'Why don't you punch through the wall while you're at it? It would look more impressive if you did it gorgeous.'" I tried to pay attention to them, keeping a grin fixed on my face as though I were a part of their banter. I did not allow myself to look toward the line where I knew she was standing, but that was all I was listening to. I could hear Jessica's impatience with the new girl who seemed to be distracted too, standing motionless in the moving line. I saw in Jessica's thoughts that Bella Swan's cheeks were once more colored bright pink with blood. I pulled in a few short, shallow breaths, ready to quit breathing if any hint of her scent touched the air near me. Mike Newton was with the two girls; I heard both his voices, mental and verbal, when he asked Jessica what was wrong with the Swan girl. It was distasteful, the way his thoughts wrapped around her, the flicker of already established fantasies that clouded his mind while he watched her start and look up from her tray as though she'd forgotten he was there.

Nothing. I heard Bella say in that quiet, clear voice; it seemed to ring like a struck bell over the babble in the cafeteria, but I knew that was just because I was listening for it so intently. "I'll just get a soda today," she continued as she moved to catch up with the line. I couldn't help flickering one glance in her direction. She was staring at the floor; the blood slowly fading from her face. I looked away quickly to Emmett, who laughed at the now pained-looking smile on my face.

"You look sick, brother mine." I rearranged my features so the expression would seem casual and effortless. Jessica was wondering aloud about the girl's lack of appetite.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Actually, I feel a little sick," her voice was lower but still very clear. Why did it bother me, that protective concern that suddenly emanated from Mike Newton's thoughts? What did it matter that there was a possessive edge to them? It wasn't my business if Mike Newton felt unnecessarily anxious for her. Perhaps this was the way everyone responded to her, and I wanted instinctively to protect her too. Before I'd wanted to kill her, that is. But was the girl ill? It was hard to judge; she looked so delicate with her translucent skin. Then I realized that I was worrying just like that dimwitted boy, and I forced myself not to think about her health. Regardless, I didn't like monitoring her through Mike's thoughts. I switched to Jessica's, watching carefully as the three of them chose which table to sit at. Fortunately, they sat with Jessica's usual companions at one of the first tables in the room, not downwind, just as Alice had promised.

Alice elbowed me. "She's going to look soon. Act human."

"EAS up, Edward," Emmett said honestly. "So you kill one human; that's hardly the end of the world."

"You would know," I murmured.

Emmett laughed. "You've got to learn to get over things like I do. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt."

Just then, Alice tossed a smaller handful of ice that she'd been hiding into Emmett's unsuspecting face. He blinked, surprised, and then grinned in anticipation. "You asked for it," he said as he leaned across the table and shook his ice-encrusted hair in her direction. The snow melting in the warm room flew out from his hair in a thick shower of half liquid, half ice.

"Ew," Rose complained as she and Alice recoiled from the deluge.

Alice laughed, and we all joined in. I could see in Alice's head how she'd orchestrated this perfect moment, and I knew that the girl--I should stop thinking of her that way, as if she were the only girl in the world--that Bella would be watching us laugh and play, looking as happy and human and unrealistically ideal as a Norman Rockwell painting. Alice kept laughing and held her tray up as a shield. The girl, Bella, must still be staring at us, staring at the Cullens again. Someone thought, catching my attention. I looked automatically toward the unintentional call, easily recognizing the voice as my eyes found their destination. I'd been listening to it so much today. But my eyes slid right past Jessica and focused on the girl's penetrating gaze. She looked down quickly, hiding behind her thick hair again. What was she thinking? The frustration seemed to be getting more acute as time went on, rather than dulling. I tried, uncertain, for I'd never done this before, to probe with my mind at the silence around her. My extra hearing had always come to me naturally, without asking; I'd never had to work at it. But I concentrated now, trying to break through whatever armor surrounded her. Nothing but silence.

"What is it about her?" Jessica thought, echoing my own irritation. "Edward Cullen is staring at you," she whispered in the Swan girl's ear, adding a giggle. There was no hint of her jealous annoyance in her tone; Jessica seemed to be skilled at feigning friendship. I listened, too engrossed, to the girl's response.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" she whispered back. So she had noticed my wild reaction last week. Of course she had. The question confused Jessica. I saw my own face in her thoughts as she checked my expression, but I did not meet her glance. I was still concentrating on the girl, trying to hear something. Intent focus didn't seem to help at all.

"No, just told her," and I knew that she wished she could say yes, how it rankled her, my staring, though there was no trace of that in her voice.

"Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," the girl whispered back, laying her head down on her arm as if she were suddenly tired. I tried to understand the motion, but I could only make guesses; maybe she was tired.

"The Cullens don't like anybody," Jess reassured her. "Well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them; they never used to." Her thought was a grumble of complaint. "But he's still staring at you. Stop looking at him."

The girl said anxiously, lifting her head from her arm to make sure Jessica obeyed the order. Jessica giggled but did as she was asked. The girl did not look away from her table for the rest of the hour. I thought, though of course I could not be sure that this was deliberate, it seemed as though she wanted to look at me; her body would shift slightly in my direction, her chin would begin to turn, and then she would catch herself, take a deep breath, and stare fixedly at whoever was speaking. I ignored the other thoughts around the girl for the most part, as they were not momentarily about her. Mike Newton was planning a snowball fight in the parking lot after school, not seeming to realize that the snow had already shifted to rain. The flutter of soft flakes against the roof had become the more common patter of raindrops. Could he really not hear the change? It seemed loud to me.

When the lunch period ended, I stayed in my seat. The humans filed out, and I caught myself trying to distinguish the sound of her footsteps from the rest, as if there were something important or unusual about them. How stupid. My family made no move to leave either; they waited to see what I would do. Would I go to class, sit beside the girl where I could smell the absurdly potent scent of her blood and feel the warmth of her pulse in the air on my skin? Was I strong enough for that, or had I had enough for one day? As a family, we'd already discussed this moment from every possible angle. Carlisle disapproved of the risk, but he wouldn't impose his will on mine. Jasper disapproved nearly as much, but from fear of exposure rather than any concern for humankind. Rosalie only worried about how it would affect her life. Alice saw so many obscure, conflicting futures that her visions were atypically unhelpful. Esme thought I could do no wrong, and Emmett just wanted to compare stories about his own experiences with particularly appealing scents. He pulled Jasper into his reminiscing, though Jasper's history with self-control was so short and so uneven that he was unable to be sure he'd ever had an analogous struggle. Emmett, on the other hand, remembered two such incidents; his memories of them were not encouraging, but he'd been younger then, not as adept at self-control. Surely I was stronger than that.

"I think it's okay," Alice said, hesitant. "Your mind is set. I think you'll make it through the hour." But Alice knew well how quickly a mind could change.

"Why push it, Edward?" Jasper asked, though he didn't want to feel smug that I was the weak one now. I could hear that he did, just a little. "Go home, take it slow. What's the big deal?"

"Emmett disagreed. 'Either he will or he won't kill her; might as well get it over with.'"

"Either way, I don't want to move yet," Rosalie complained. "I don't want to start over; we're almost out of high school."

"Emmett finally," I was evenly torn on the decision. I wanted, wanted badly, to face this head-on rather than running away again, but I didn't want to push myself too far either. It had been a mistake last week for Jasper to go so long without hunting; was this just as pointless a mistake? I didn't want to uproot my family; none of them would thank me for that. But I wanted to go to my biology class. I realized that I wanted to see her face again; that's what decided it for me, that curiosity. I was angry with myself for feeling it. Had I promised myself that I wouldn't let the silence of the girl's mind make me unduly interested in her, and yet here I was, most unduly interested. I wanted to know what she was thinking. Her mind was closed, but her eyes were very open; perhaps I could read them instead.

"No, Rose, I think it really will be okay," Alice said. "It's firming up. I'm 93% sure that nothing bad will happen if he goes to class." She looked at me, inquisitive, wondering what had changed in my thoughts that made her vision of the future more secure. Would curiosity be enough to keep Bella Swan alive? Emmett was right, though; why not get it over with? Either way, I would face the temptation head-on.

"Go to class," I ordered, pushing away from the table. I turned and strode away from them without looking back. I could hear Alice's worry, Jasper's censure, Emmett's approval, and Rosalie's irritation trailing after me. I took one last deep breath at the door of the classroom and then held it in my lungs as I walked into the small, warm space. I was not late; Mr. Banner was still setting up for today's lab. The girl sat at my--at our table, her face down again, staring at the folder she was doodling on. I examined the sketch as I approached, interested in even this trivial creation of her mind, but it was meaningless, just a random scribbling of loops within loops. Perhaps she was not concentrating on the pattern but thinking of something else. I pulled my chair back with unnecessary roughness, letting it scrape across the linoleum. Humans always felt more comfortable when noise announced someone's approach. I knew she heard the sound; she did not look up, but her hand missed a loop in the design she was drawing, making it unbalanced. Why didn't she look up? Probably she was frightened. I must be sure to leave her with a different impression this time, make her think she'd been imagining things before.

"Hello," I said in the quiet voice I used when I wanted to make humans more comfortable, forming a polite smile with my lips that would not show any teeth. She looked up then, her wide brown eyes startled and full of silent questions. It was the same expression that had been obstructing my vision for the past week. As I stared into those oddly deep brown eyes, the color was like milk chocolate, but the clarity was more comparable to strong tea. There was a depth and transparency near her pupils; there were tiny flecks of agot green and golden caramel. I realized that my hate, the hate I'd imagined this girl somehow deserved for simply existing, had evaporated. Not breathing now, not tasting her scent, I found it hard to believe that anyone so vulnerable could ever be deserving of hatred. Her cheeks began to flush, and she said nothing. I kept my eyes on hers, focusing only on their questioning depths and tried to ignore the appetising color of her skin. I had enough breath to speak for a while longer without inhaling. "My name is Edward Cullen," I said, though she...

Already knew it. It was the polite way to begin. I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan.

She seemed confused. There was that little pucker between her eyes again. It took her half a second longer than it should have to respond. "How do you know my name?" she demanded, and her voice shook just a little. I must have truly terrified her, and this made me feel guilty. I laughed gently; it was a sound that I knew made humans more at ease.

"Uh-oh," I think everyone knows your name. Surely she must have realized that she'd become the center of attention in this monotonous place. "The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

She frowned, as if this information was unpleasant. I supposed being shy, as she appeared to be, attention would seem like a bad thing to her. Most humans felt the opposite, though; they didn't want to stand out from the herd, at the same time they craved a spotlight for their individual uniformity.

"No," she said. "I meant why did you call me Bella?"

"Do you prefer Isabella?" I asked, perplexed that I couldn't see where this question was leading. I didn't understand. She'd made her preference clear many times that first day. Were all humans this incomprehensible without the mental context? As a guy, how much I must rely on that extra sense. Would I be completely blind without it?

"No, I like Bella," she answered, leaning her head slightly to one side. Her expression, if I was reading it correctly, was torn between embarrassment and confusion. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me Isabella behind my back. That's what everyone here seems to know me as." Her skin darkened one shade pinker.

"Oh," I said, and quickly looked away from her face. I just realized what her questions meant. I had slipped up, made an error. If I hadn't been EAS dropping on all the others that first day, then I would have addressed her initially by her full name. She'd noticed the difference. I felt a pang of unease. It was very quick of her to pick up on my slip, quite astute, especially for someone who was supposed to be terrified by my proximity. But I had bigger problems than whatever suspicions about me she might be keeping locked inside her head. I was out of air. If I were going to speak to her again, I would have to inhale. It would be hard to avoid speaking. Unfortunately for her, sharing this table made her my lab partner, and we would have to work together today. It would seem odd and incomprehensibly rude for me to ignore her while we did our lab. It would make her more suspicious, more afraid.

I leaned as far away from her as I could without moving my seat, feet twisting, my head out into the aisle. I braced myself, locking my muscles in place, and then sucked in one quick chest full of air, breathing through my mouth alone. It was intensely painful, like swallowing burning coals. Even without smelling her, I could taste her on my tongue; the craving was every bit as strong as that first moment I'd caught her scent last week. I gritted my teeth and tried, tried to compose myself.

"Get started," Mr. Banner commanded. It took every single ounce of self-control I'd achieved in 74 years of hard work to turn back to the girl who was staring down at the table and smile. "Ladies first, partner," I offered.

She looked up at my expression, and her face went blank. Was there something off in her eyes? I saw the reflection of my usual human-friendly composition of features; the facade looked perfect. Was she frightened again?

She didn't speak. "Or I could start if you wish," I said quietly.

"No," she said, and her face went from white to red again. "I'll go ahead."

I stared at the equipment on the table: the battered microscope, the box of slides, rather than watch the blood wax and wane under her clear skin. I took another quick breath through my teeth and winced as the taste scorched the inside of my throat.

"Proface," she said after a quick examination. She started to remove the slide, though she barely examined it.

"Do you mind if I look?" Instinctively, stupidly, as if I were one of her kind, I reached out to stop her hand from removing the slide for one second. The heat of her skin burned into mine; it was like an electric pulse; the heat shot through my fingers and up my arm. She yanked her hand out from under my—

"I'm sorry," I muttered, needing somewhere to look. I grasped the microscope and stared briefly into the eyepiece. "She was right," I agreed. I was still too unsettled to look at her, breathing as quietly as I could through my gritted teeth and trying to ignore the fiery thirst. I concentrated on the simple assignment, writing the word on the appropriate line on the lab sheet and then switching out the first slide for the next. What was she thinking now? What had it felt like to her when I had touched her hand? My skin must have been ice cold, repulsive. No wonder she was so quiet.

I glanced at the slide. "Anaas," I said to myself as I wrote it on the second line.

"May I?" she asked. I looked up, surprised to see that she was waiting expectantly, one hand half stretched toward the microscope. She didn't look afraid. Did she really think I'd gotten the answer wrong? I couldn't help but smile at the hopeful expression on her face as I slid the microscope toward her. She stared into the eyepiece with an eagerness that quickly faded; the corners of her mouth turned down.

"Slide three," she asked, not looking up from the microscope but holding out her hand. I dropped the next slide into her palm, keeping my skin far from hers this time. Sitting beside her was like sitting next to a heat lamp; I could feel myself warming slightly to the higher temperature. She did not look at the slide for long.

"Interface," she said nonchalantly, perhaps trying a little too hard to sound that way and push the microscope toward me. She did not touch the paper but waited for me to write the answer. I checked; she was correct again. We finished this way, speaking one word at a time and never meeting each other's eyes.

We were the only ones done; the others in the class were having a harder time with the lab. Mike Newton seemed to be having trouble concentrating; he was trying to watch Bella and me. Wish he'd stayed wherever he went. Mike thought, eyeing me, *sulfurous, interesting*. I hadn't realized the boy harbored any specific ill will toward me; this was a new development, about as recent as the girl's arrival. It seemed even more interestingly, I found to my surprise, that the feeling was mutual.

I looked down at the girl again, bemused by the vast range of havoc and upheaval that, despite her ordinary, unthreatening appearance, she was wreaking on my life. It wasn't that I couldn't see what Mike was going on about; she was actually sort of pretty for a human, in an unusual way, better than being beautiful. Her face was unexpected, not quite symmetrical; her narrow chin out of balance with her wide cheekbones, extreme in the coloring, the contrast of her light skin and dark hair, and then there were the eyes—too big for her face, brimming over with silent secrets, eyes that were suddenly boring into mine. I stared back at her, trying to guess even one of those secrets.

"Did you get contacts?" she asked abruptly. What a strange question.

"No," I almost smiled at the idea of improving my eyesight.

"Oh," she mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

I felt suddenly colder again as I realized that I was not the only one attempting to ferret out secrets today. I shrugged my shoulders stiff and glared straight ahead to where the teacher was making his rounds. Of course, there was something different about my eyes since the last time she'd stared into them. To prepare myself for today's ordeal, today's temptation, I'd spent the entire weekend hunting, satiating my thirst as much as possible, overdoing it really. I'd glutted myself on the blood of animals, not that it made much difference in the face of the outrageous flame floating on the air around her. When I'd glared at her last, my eyes had been black with thirst; now, my body swimming with blood, my eyes wore a warm gold light, amber. Another slip. If I'd seen what she meant with her question, I could have just told her yes. I'd sat beside humans for 2 years now at this school, and she was the first to examine me closely enough to note the change in my eye color. The others, while admiring the beauty of my family, tended to look down quickly when we returned their stares; they shied away, blocking the details of our appearances in an instinctive endeavor to keep themselves from understanding. Ignorance was bliss to the human mind. Why did it have to be this girl who would see too much?

Mr. Banner approached our table. I gratefully inhaled the gush of clean air he brought with him before it could mix with her scent.

"So, Edward," he said, looking over our answers, "didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?"

"Bella," I corrected him reflexively. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner's thoughts were skeptical as he turned to look at the girl. "Have you done this lab before?"

I watched, engrossed, as she smiled, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Not with onion root, whitefish blastula," Mr. Banner probed.

"Yeah," This surprised him. Today's lab was something he'd pulled from a senior class course. He nodded thoughtfully at the girl. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes," She was advanced, then; intelligent for a human. This did not surprise me.

"Well," Mr. Banner said, pursing his lips, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners. He turned and walked away, mumbling, "so the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves," under his breath. I doubted the girl could hear that. She began scrawling loops across her folder again. Two slips so far and 1 ½ hour—an extremely poor showing on my part, though I had no idea at all what the girl thought of me. How much did she fear? How much did she suspect? I knew I needed to put forth a better effort to leave her with a new impression, something to quell her memories of our ferocious last encounter.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said, repeating the small talk that I'd heard a dozen students discuss already, a boring standard topic of conversation, the always safe. She stared at me with obvious doubt in her eyes, an abnormal reaction to my very normal words.

"Not really," I tried to steer the conversation back to trite paths. She was from a much brighter, warmer place; her skin seemed to reflect that somehow, despite its fairness, and the cold must make her uncomfortable. My icy touch certainly had.

"You don't like the cold," I guessed, "or the wet."

"She agreed," Forks must be a difficult place for you to live. Perhaps you should not have come here. I wanted to add, perhaps you should go back where you belong. I wasn't sure I wanted that, though. I would always remember the scent of her blood. Was there any guarantee that I wouldn't eventually follow her? Besides, if she left, her mind would forever remain a mystery, a constant nagging puzzle.

"You have no idea," she said in a low voice, glowering past me for a moment. Her answers were never what I expected; they made me want to ask more questions.

"Why did you come here then?" I demanded, realizing instantly that my tone was too accusatory, not casual enough for the conversation. The question sounded rude, prying.

"It's complicated," she blinked, leaving it at that, and I nearly imploded out of curiosity. In that second, it burned almost as hot as the thirst in my throat. Actually, I found that it was getting slightly easier to breathe; the agony was becoming a tiny bit more bearable through familiarity.

"I think I can keep up," I insisted. Perhaps common courtesy would compel her to answer my questions as long as I was impolite enough to ask them. She stared down silently at her hands. This made me impatient. I wanted to put my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so that I could read her eyes, but of course, I could never touch her skin again.

She looked up suddenly. It was a relief to be able to see the emotions in her eyes. She spoke in a rush, hurrying through the words. "My mother got remarried." Ah, this was human enough, easy to understand. Sorrow flitted across her face, bringing the small pucker back between her brows.

"That doesn't sound so complex," I said, my voice gentle without my working to make it that way. Her dejection left me oddly helpless, wishing there was something I could do to, to make her feel better, a strange impulse.

"When did that happen?"

"Last September," she exhaled heavily, not quite a sigh. I froze for a moment as her warm breath brushed my face.

"And you don't like him," I guessed after that short pause, still fishing for more information.

"No, Phil is fine," she said, correcting my assumption. There was a hint of a smile now around the corners of her full lips. "Two young, maybe, but nice enough." This didn't fit with the scenario I'd been constructing in my head.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" My voice was too eager; it sounded like I was being nosy, which I was, admittedly.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living," The little smile grew more pronounced; this career choice amused her. I smiled too, without choosing the expression. I wasn't trying to make her feel at ease; her smile just made me smile in response, to be in on the secret. Have I heard of him? I ran through the rosters of professional ball players in my head, wondering which Phil was hers. Probably not.

"He doesn't play well," another smile. "Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot." The rosters in my head shifted instantly, and I tabulated a list of possibilities in less than a second. At the same time, I was imagining the new scenario.

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him?" I said. Making assumptions seemed to get more information out of her than questions did; it worked again. Her chin jutted out, and her expression was suddenly stubborn.

"No, she did not send me here," she said, and her voice had a new hard edge to it. My assumption had upset her, though I couldn't quite see how. "I sent myself." I could not guess at her meaning or the source behind, behind her pique. I was entirely lost; there was just no making sense of the girl. She wasn't like other humans. Maybe the silence of her thoughts and the perfume of her scent were not the only unusual things about her.

"I don't understand," I admitted, hating to concede.

She sighed and stared into my eyes for longer than most normal humans were able to stand. She stayed with me at first, but she missed him.

"Bella explained slowly, her tone growing more forlorn with each word. It made her unhappy, so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." The tiny pucker between her eyes deepened.

"But now you're unhappy," I murmured. I kept speaking my hypothesis aloud, hoping to learn from her reputations. This one, however, did not seem as far off the mark.

"And she said, as if this was, was not even an aspect to be considered." I continued to stare into her eyes, feeling that I'd finally gotten my first real glimpse into her soul. I saw in that one word where she ranked herself among her own priorities. Unlike most humans, her own needs were far down the list; she was selfless. As I saw this, the mystery of the person hiding inside this quiet mind began to clear a little.

"That doesn't seem fair," I said. I shrugged, trying to seem casual.

She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. "Hasn't anyone ever told you life isn't fair?"

I wanted to laugh at her words, though I too felt no real amusement. I knew a little something about the unfairness of life.

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before." She stared back at me, seeming confused again; her eyes flickered away and then came back to mine. So that's all she told me. I was not ready to let this conversation end. The little V between her eyes, a remnant of her sorrow, bothered me.

"You put on a good show," I spoke slowly, still considering this next hypothesis, "but I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

She made a face, her eyes narrowing and her mouth twisting into a lopsided frown, and she looked back towards the front of the classroom. She didn't like it when I guessed right. She wasn't the average martyr; she didn't want an audience for her pain.

"Am I wrong?" She flinched slightly but otherwise pretended not to hear me. That made me smile. I didn't think so.

"Why does it matter to you?" she demanded, still staring away.

"That's a very good question," I admitted, more to myself than to her. Her discernment was better than mine; she saw right to the core of things while I floundered around the edges, sifting blindly through clues. The details of her very human life should not matter to me. It was wrong for me to care what she thought, beyond protecting my family from suspicion. Human thoughts were not significant. I was not used to being the less intuitive of any pairing. I relied on my extra hearing too much. I clearly was not as perceptive as I gave myself credit for.

The girl sighed and glowed toward the front of the classroom. Something about her frustrated expression was humorous; the whole situation, the whole conversation was humorous. No one had ever been in more danger from me than this small human girl. At any moment, I might, distracted by my ridiculous absorption in this conversation, inhale through my nose and attack her before I could stop myself, and she was irritated because I hadn't answered her question.

"Am I annoying you?" I asked, smiling, smiling at the absurdity of it all.

She glanced at me quickly, and then her eyes seemed to get trapped by my gaze. "Not exactly," she told me. "I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read. My mother always calls me her open book." She frowned, disgruntled.

I stared at her in amazement. She was upset because she thought I saw through her too easily. How bizarre. I'd never expended so, so much effort to understand someone in all my life, or rather existence, as life was hardly the right word. I did not truly have a life. On the contrary, I disagreed, feeling strangely wary, as if there were some hidden danger here that I was failing to see beyond the very obvious danger, something more. I was suddenly on edge, the premonition making me anxious.

"I find you very difficult to read," she guessed, making her own assumption, which was again right on target.

"Usually I agreed," I smiled at her widely, then, letting my lips pull back to expose the rows of gleaming steel, strong teeth behind them. It was a stupid thing to do, but I was abruptly, unexpectedly desperate to get some kind of warning through to the girl. Her body was closer to me than before, having shifted unconsciously in the course of our conversation. All the little markers and signs that were sufficient to scare off the rest of humanity did not seem to be working on her. Why did she not cringe away from me in terror? Surely she had seen enough of my darker side to realize the danger. I didn't get to see if my warning had the intended effect. Mr. Banner called for the class's attention just then, and she turned away from me at once. She seemed a little relieved for the interruption, so maybe she understood unconsciously. I hoped she did. I recognized the fascination growing inside me, even as I tried to root it out. I could not afford to find Bella Swan interesting, or rather, she could not afford that. Already I was anxious for another chance to talk to her. I wanted to know more about her mother, her life before she came here, her relationship with her father, all the meaningless details that would flesh out her character further. But every second I spent with her was a mistake, a risk she shouldn't have to take.

Absentmindedly, she tossed her thick hair just at the moment that I allowed myself another breath; a particularly concentrated wave of her scent hit the back of my throat. It was like the first day, like the grenade; the pain of the burning dryness made me dizzy. I had to grasp the table again to keep myself in my seat. This time I had slightly more control; I didn't break anything, at least. The monster growled inside me but took no pleasure in my pain; he was too tightly bound for the moment. I stopped breathing altogether and leaned as far from the girl as I could. No, I could not afford to find her fascinating; the more interesting I found her, the more likely it was that I would kill her. I'd already made two minor slips today; would I make a third one that was not minor? As soon as the bell sounded, I fled from the classroom, probably destroying whatever impression of politeness I'd halfway constructed in the course of the hour. Again, I gasped at the clean, wet air outside as though it was a healing adder. I hurried to put as much distance as possible between myself and the girl.

EMT waited for me outside the door of our Spanish class. He read my wild expression for a moment. "How'd it go?" he wondered wearily.

"Nobody died," I mumbled. "I guess that's something."

"When I saw Alice ditching there at the end," I thought as we walked into the classroom. I saw his memory from just a few moments earlier, seen through the open door of his last class: Alice walking briskly and blank-faced across the grounds toward the science building. I felt his remembered urge to get up and join her and then his decision to stay. If Alice needed his help, she would ask. I closed my eyes in horror and disgust as I slumped into my seat.

"I hadn't realized it was that close," I didn't think I was going to, I didn't see that it was that bad.

"I whispered," It wasn't, he reassured me. "Nobody died, right?"

"Right," I said through my teeth. "Not this time. Maybe it will get easier."

"Sure," or maybe you kill her. He shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first one to mess up. No one would judge you too harshly. Sometimes a person just smells too good."

"I'm impressed you've lasted this long," not helping. EMT, I was revolted by his acceptance of the idea that I would kill the girl, that this was somehow inevitable. Was it her fault that she smelled so good?

"I know when it happened to me," he reminisced, taking me back with him half a century to a country lane at dusk, where a middle-aged woman was pulling her dried sheets down from a line strung between apple trees. I'd seen this before, the strongest of his two encounters, but the memory seemed particularly vivid now, perhaps because my throat still ached from the last hour, scorching. EMT remembered the smell of apples hanging heavy in the air; the harvest was over, and the rejected fruits were scattered on the ground, the bruises in their skin leaking their fragrance out in thick clouds. A freshly mowed field of hay was a background to that scent, a harmony. He walked up the lane, all but oblivious to the woman on an errand for rosily. The sky was purple overhead, orange over the mountains to the West. He would have continued up the meandering cart path, and there would have been no reason to remember the evening except that a sudden night breeze blew the white sheets out like sails and fanned the woman's scent across EMT's face.

"Ah," I groaned quietly, as if my own remembered thirst was not enough. "I know," I didn't last half a second. I didn't even think about resisting. His memory became far too explicit for me to stand. I jumped to my feet, my teeth locked hard.

"Aspen, Edward," Mrs. Goff asked, startled by my sudden movement. I could see my face in her mind, and I knew that I looked far from well.

"I muttered as I darted for the door," Em hermano? she asked, gesturing helplessly toward me as I rushed out of the room.

"Sure," I heard him say, and then he was right behind me. He followed me to the far side of the building, where he caught up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I shoved his hand away with unnecessary force; it would have shattered the bones in a human hand and the bones in the arm attached to it.

"Sorry, Edward," I know. I drew in deep gasps of air, trying to clear my head and lungs. "Is it as bad as that?" he asked, trying not to think of the scent and the flavor of his memory as he asked and not quite succeeding.

"Worse, EMT, worse," He was quiet for a moment. Maybe no, it would not be better if I got it over with. "Go back to class."

EMT. I want to be alone. He turned without another word or thought and walked quickly away. He would tell the Spanish teacher that I was sick, or ditching, or a dangerously out-of-control vampire. Did his excuse really matter? Maybe I wasn't coming back; maybe I had to leave.

I returned to my car to wait for school to end, to hide again. I should have spent the time making decisions or trying to bolster my resolve, but like an addict, I found myself searching through the babble of thoughts emanating from the school buildings. The familiar voices stood out, but I wasn't interested in listening to Alice's visions or Rosalie's complaints right now. I found Jessica easily, but the girl was not with her, so I continued searching. Mike Newton's thoughts caught my attention, and I located her at last in the gym with him. He wasn't happy because I'd spoken to her today in biology; he was running over her response when he brought the subject up. I've never seen him actually say more than a word here or there to anyone. Of course, he would decide to talk to Bella. I don't like the way he looks at her, but she doesn't seem too excited about him. What did she say to me earlier? Wonder what was with him last Monday? Something like that didn't sound like she cared; it couldn't have been much of a conversation. He cheered himself with the idea that Bella had not been interested in her exchange with me. This annoyed me quite a bit, so I stopped listening to him. I put in a CD of violent music and then turned it up until it drowned out other voices. I had to concentrate on the music very hard to keep myself from drifting back to Mike Newton's thoughts, to spy on the unsuspecting girl. I cheated a few times as the hour drew to a close. Not spy; I tried to convince myself I was just preparing. I wanted to know exactly when she would leave the gym, when she would be in the parking lot. I didn't want her to take me by surprise.

As the students started to file out of the gym doors, I got out of my car, not sure why I did it. The rain was light; I ignored it as it slowly saturated my hair. Did I want her to see me here? Did I hope she would come speak to me? What was I doing? I didn't move, though. I tried to convince myself to get back in the car, knowing my behavior was reprehensible. I kept my arms folded across my chest and breathed very shallowly as I watched her walk slowly toward me, her mouth turning down at the corners. She didn't look at me; a few times she glanced up at the clouds with a scowl, as if they had offended her. I was disappointed when she reached her car before she had to pass me. Would she have spoken to me? Would I have spoken to her? She got into a faded red Chevy truck, a rusted behemoth that was older than her father. I watched her start the truck; the old engine roared louder than any other vehicle in the lot, and then she held her hands out toward the heating vents. The cold was uncomfortable to her; she didn't like it. She combed her fingers through her thick hair, pulling locks through the stream of hot air as though she was trying to dry them. I imagined what the cab of the truck would smell like and then quickly drove out the thought. She glanced around as she prepared to back out and finally looked in my direction. She stared back at me for only half a second, and all I could read in her eyes was surprise before she tore them away and jerked the truck into reverse, and then squealed to a stop again, the back end of the truck missing a collision with Nicole Casey's compact by mere inches. She stared into her rearview mirror, her mouth hanging open, horrified at her near miss. When the other car had pulled past her, she checked all her blind spots twice, twice, and then inched out of the parking space so cautiously that it made me grin. It was as though she thought she was dangerous in her decrepit truck. The thought of Bella Swan being dangerous to anyone, no matter what she was driving, had me laughing while the girl drove past me, staring straight ahead. Chapter 3: Risk.

Truly, I was not thirsty, but I decided to hunt again that night; a small ounce of prevention, inadequate though I knew it to be. Carlile came with me; we hadn't been alone together since I'd returned from Denali. As we ran through the Black Forest, I heard him thinking about the hasty goodbye last week. In his memory, I saw the way my features had been twisted in fierce despair. I felt again his surprise and sudden worry. "Edward, I have to go." "Carlile, I have to go now. What's happened?" "Nothing yet, but it will if I stay." He'd reached for my arm; I'd seen how it had hurt him when I cringed away from his hand. "I don't understand. Have you ever? Has there ever been a time...?" I watched myself take a deep breath, saw the wild light in my eyes through the filter of his deep concern. "Has any one person ever smelled better to you than the rest of them? Much better?" "Oh, oh," when I knew that he understood, my face had fallen with shame. He'd reached out to touch me, ignoring it when I recoiled again and left his hand on my shoulder. "Do what you must to resist, son. I will miss you. Here, take my car; the tank is full." He was wondering now if he'd done the right thing, then, sending me away, wondering if he had hurt me with his lack of trust. "No," I whispered as I ran, "that was what I needed. I might so easily have betrayed that trust if you told me to stay." "I'm sorry you're suffering, Edward, but you should do what you can to keep the Swan child alive, even if it means that you must leave us again." "I know, I know." "Why did you come back? You know how happy I am to have you here, but if this is too difficult…" I didn't like feeling a coward, I admitted. We'd slowed; we were bar jogging through the darkness now. Better that than to put her in danger. "She'll be gone in a year or two." "You're right, I know that." Contrarily, his words only made me more anxious to stay. The girl would be gone in a year or two. Carlile stopped running, and I stopped with him. He turned to examine my expression. "But you're not going to run, are you?" I hung my head. "Is it pride, Edward?" "There's no shame, and no, it isn't pride that keeps me here. Not now. Nowhere to go." I laughed shortly. "No, that wouldn't stop me if I could make myself leave." "We'll come with you, of course, if that's what you need. You only have to ask." "You've moved on without complaint for the rest of them; they won't regret you." This, I raised one eyebrow. He laughed. "Yes, Rosalie might, but she owes you anyway. It's much better for us to leave now, no damage done, than for us to leave later, after a life has been ended." All humor was gone by the end; I flinched at his words. "Yes," I agreed; my voice sounded horrid. "But you're not leaving." I sighed. "I should." "What holds you here, Edward? I'm failing to see…" "I don't know if I can explain, even to myself. It made no sense." He measured my expression for a long moment. "No, I do not see, but I will respect your privacy if you prefer." "Thank you. It's generous of you, seeing as how I give privacy to no one, with one exception. And I was doing what I could to deprive her of that, wasn't I?" "We all have our quirks," he laughed again. "Shall we?" He just caught the scent of a small herd of deer. It was hard to rally much enthusiasm for what was, even under the best of circumstances, a less than mouthwatering aroma right now, with the memory of the girl's blood fresh in my mind; the smell actually turned my stomach. I sighed. "Let's," I agreed, though I knew that forcing more blood down my throat would help so little. We both shifted into a hunting crouch and let the unappealing scent pull us silently forward.

It was colder when we returned home; the melted snow had refrozen. It was as if a thin sheet of glass covered everything; each pine needle, each fern frond, each blade of grass was iced over. While Carlile went to dress for his early shift at the hospital, I stayed by the river waiting for the sun to rise. I felt almost swollen from the amount of blood I'd consumed, but I knew the lack of actual thirst would mean little when I sat beside the girl again. Cool and motionless as the stone I sat on, I stared at the dark water running beside the icy bank, stared right through it. Carlile was right; I should leave Forks. They could spread some story to explain my absence: boarding school in Europe, visiting distant relatives, teenage runaway. The story didn't matter; no one would question too intensely. It was just a year or two, and then the girl would disappear. She would go on with her life; she would have a life to go on with. She'd go to college somewhere, start a career, perhaps marry someone. I could picture that; I could see the girl dressed all in white and walking at a measured pace, her arm through her father's. It was odd, the pain that image caused me. I couldn't understand it. Was I begrudging of her future because it was something I could never have? That made no sense; every one of the humans around me had that same potential ahead of them, a life, and I rarely stopped to envy them. I should leave her to her future, stop risking her life; that was the right thing to do. Carlile always chose the right way; I should listen to him now. I would.

The sun rose behind the clouds, and the faint light glistened off all the frozen glass. One more day, I decided. I would see her one more time; I could handle that. Perhaps I would mention my pending disappearance, set the story up. This was going to be difficult; I could feel that in the heavy reluctance that was already making me think of excuses to stay, to extend the deadline to 2 days, 3, 4, but I would do the right thing. I knew I could trust Carlile's advice, and I also knew that I was too conflicted to make the right decision alone, much too conflicted. How much of this reluctance came from my obsessive curiosity, and how much came from my unsatisfied appetite?

I went inside to change into fresh clothes for school. Alice was waiting for me, sitting on the top step at the edge of the third floor. "You're leaving again," she accused me. I sighed and nodded. "I can't see where you're going this time." "I don't know where I'm going yet," I whispered. "I want you to stay." I shook my head. "Maybe Jasper and I could come with you." "They'll need you all the more if I'm not here to watch out for…for them. And think of Esme; would you take half her family away in one blow? You're going to make her so unhappy." "I know. That's why you have to stay." "That's not the same as having you here, and you know it." "Yes, but I have to do what's right." "There are many right ways and many wrong ways, though, aren't there?" For a brief moment, she was swept away into one of her strange visions. I watched along with her as the indistinct images flickered in the world. I saw myself mixed in with strange shadows that I couldn't make out, hazy, imprecise forms, and then suddenly my skin was glittering in the bright sunlight of a small, open meadow. This was a place I knew. There was a figure in the meadow with me, but again it was indistinct, not there enough to recognize. The images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again. "I didn't catch much of that." "Me either. Your future is shifting around so much I can't keep up with any of it. I think…" she stopped and she flipped through a vast collection of other recent visions for me. They were all the same, blurry and vague. "I think something is changing," she said out loud. "Your life seems to be at a crossroads." I laughed grimly. "You do realize you sound like a carnival fortune teller, right?" She stuck out her tiny tongue at me. "Today is all right, though, isn't it?" I asked, my voice abruptly apprehensive. "I don't see you killing anyone today," she assured me. "Thanks, Alice. Go get dressed. I won't say anything; I'll let you tell the others when you're ready." She stood and darted back down the stairs, her shoulders hunched slightly. "Miss you, really." "Yes, I would really miss her too."

It was a quiet ride to school. Jasper could feel that Alice was upset about something, but he knew that if she wanted to talk about it, she would have done so already. Emmett and Rosalie were oblivious, having another of their moments, gazing into each other's eyes with wonder. It was rather disgusting to watch from the outside. We were all quite aware how desperately in love they were, or maybe I was just being bitter because I was the only one alone. Some days it was harder than others to live with three sets of perfectly matched lovers; this was one of them. Maybe they would all be happier without me hanging around, ill-tempered and belligerent as the old man I should be by now. Of course, the first thing I did when we reached the school was to look for the girl. Just preparing myself again, right? It was embarrassing how my world suddenly seemed to be empty of everything but her. It was easy enough to understand, though, really. After eighty years of the same thing every day and every night, any change became a point of absorption.

She had not yet arrived, but I could hear the thunderous chugging of her truck's engine in the distance. I leaned against the side of the car to wait. Alice stayed with me while the others went straight to class; they were already bored with my fixation. It was incomprehensible to them how any human could hold my interest for so long, no matter how appealing she smelled. The girl drove slowly into view, her eyes intent on the road and her hands tight on the wheel. She seemed anxious about something; it took me a second to figure out what that something was, to realize that every human wore the same expression today. Ah, the road was slick with ice, and they were all trying to drive more carefully. I could see she was taking the added risk seriously; that seemed in line with what little I had learned of her character. I added this to my small list: she was a serious person, a responsible person. She parked not too far from me, but she hadn't noticed me standing here yet. Staring at her, I wondered what she would do when she saw me: blush and walk away, that was my first guess, but maybe she would stare back, maybe she would come talk to me. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs hopefully, just in case.

She got out of the truck with care, testing the slick ground before she put her weight on it. She didn't look up, and that frustrated me. Maybe I would go talk to her. No, that would be wrong. Wrong. Instead of turning toward the school, she made her way to the rear of the truck, clinging to the side of the truck bed in a droll way, not trusting her footing. It made me smile, and I felt Alice's eyes on my face. I didn't listen to whatever this made her think; I was having too much fun watching the girl check her snow chains. She actually looked in some danger of falling, the way her feet were sliding around. No one else was having trouble; had she parked in the worst of the ice? She paused there, staring down with a strange expression on her face; it was tender, as if something about the tire was making her emotional again. The curiosity ached like a thirst; it was as if I had to know what she was thinking, as if nothing else mattered. I would go talk to her; she looked like she could use a hand anyway, at least until she was off the slick pavement. Of course, I couldn't offer her that, could I? I hesitated, torn. As averse as she seemed to be to snow, she would hardly welcome the touch of my cold, white hand. I should have worn gloves.

No. Alice gasped aloud instantly. I scanned her thoughts, guessing at first that I had made a poor choice and she saw me doing something inexcusable, but it had nothing to do with me at all. Tyler Crowley had chosen to take the turn into the parking lot at an injudicious speed; this choice would send him skidding across a patch of ice. The vision came just half a second before the reality. Tyler's van rounded the corner as I was still watching what had pulled the horrified gasp from Alice's lips. No, this vision had nothing to do with me, and yet it had everything to do with me, because Tyler's van, the tires right now hitting the ice at the worst possible angle, was going to spin across the lot and crush the girl who had become the uninvited focal point of my world. Even without Alice's foresight, it would have been simple enough to read that trajectory of the vehicle, flying out of Tyler's control. The girl, standing in the exactly wrong place at the back of her truck, looked up, confused by the sound of the screeching tires. She looked straight into my horror-struck eyes and then turned to watch her approaching death. "Not her," the words shouted in my head, as if they belonged to someone else, still locked into Alice's thoughts. I saw the vision suddenly shift, but I had no time to see what the outcome would be. I launched myself across the lot, throwing myself between the skidding van and the frozen girl. I moved so fast that everything was a streaky blur except for the object of my focus. She didn't see me; no human eyes could have followed my flight, still staring at the hulking shape that was about to grind her body into the metal frame of her truck. I caught her around the waist, moving with too much urgency to be as gentle as she would need me to be. In the hundredth of a second between yanking her slight form out of the path of death and crashing, dazing to the ground with her in my arms, I was vividly aware of her fragile, breakable body. When I heard her head thump against the ice, it felt as though I had turned to ice too, but I didn't even have a full second to ascertain her condition. I heard the van behind us grating and squealing as it twisted around the sturdy iron body of the girl's truck; it was changing course, arcing, coming for her again, as though she were a magnet pulling it toward us. A word I'd never said before in the presence of a lady slid between my clenched teeth. I had already done too much; as I'd nearly flown through the air to push her out of the way, I'd been fully aware of the mistake I was making; knowing that it was a mistake did not stop me, but I was not oblivious to the risk I was taking, not just for myself but for my entire family. Exposure, and this certainly wouldn't help, but there was no way I was going to allow the van to succeed in its second attempt to take her life. I dropped her and threw my hands out, catching the van before it could touch the girl. The force of it hurled me back into the car parked beside her truck, and I could feel its frame buckle behind my shoulders. The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms and then swayed, balancing unstably on its two far tires. If I moved my hands, the back tire of the van was going to fall onto her legs. Oh, for the love of all that was holy, would the catastrophe never end? Was there anything else that could go wrong? I could hardly sit here holding the van up and wait for rescue, nor could I throw the van away; there was the driver to consider, his thoughts incoherent with panic. With an internal groan, I shoved the van so that it rocked away from us for an instant. As it fell back toward me, I caught it under the frame with my right hand while I wrapped my left arm around the girl's waist again and dragged her out from under the threatening tire, pulling her tight against my side. Her body moved limply as I swung her around so that her legs would be in the clear. Was she conscious? How much damage had I done to her in the impromptu rescue attempt? I let the van drop now that it could not hurt her; it crashed to the pavement, all the windows shattering in unison. I knew that I was in the middle of a crisis. How much had she seen? Had any other witnesses watched me materialize at her side and then juggle the van while I tried to keep her out from under it? These questions should be my biggest concern, but I was too anxious to really care about the threat of exposure as much as I should, too panic-stricken that I might have injured her in my effort to save her life, too frightened to have her this close to me, knowing what I would smell if I allowed myself to inhale, too aware of the heat of her soft body pressed against mine, even through the double obstacle of our jackets. I could feel that heat. The first fear was the greatest fear as the screaming of the witnesses erupted around us. I leaned down to examine her face, to see if she was conscious, hoping fiercely that she was not bleeding anywhere. Her eyes were open, staring in shock. "Bella," I asked urgently, "are you all right?" "I'm fine," she said the words automatically, in a dazed voice. Relief, so exquisite it was nearly pain, washed through me at the sound of her voice. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and, for once, did not mind the agony of the accompanying burn in my throat; in a strange way, I almost welcomed it. She struggled to sit up, but I was not ready to release her; it felt somehow safer, better, at least, having her tucked into my side. "Be careful," I warned her. "I think you hit your head pretty hard." There had been no smell of fresh blood, a great mercy that, but this did not rule out internal damage. I was abruptly anxious to get her to Carlile and a full compliment of radiology equipment. "Ow," she said, her tone comically shocked as she realized I was right about her head. "That's what I thought." Relief made it funny to me, made me almost giddy. "How…in the…" her voice trailed off, and her eyelids fluttered. "How did you get over here so fast?" The relief turned sour; the humor vanished. She had noticed too much. Now that it appeared the girl was in decent shape, the anxiety for my family became severe. "I was standing right next to you, Bella." I knew from experience that if I was very confident as I lied, it made any questioner less sure of the truth. She struggled to move again, and this time I allowed it. I needed to breathe so I could play my role correctly; I needed space from her warm-blooded heat so that it would not combine with her scent to overwhelm me. I slid away from her as far as was possible in the small space between the wrecked vehicles. She stared up at me, and I stared back. To look away first was a mistake only an incompetent liar would make, and I was not an incompetent liar; my expression was smooth, benign. It seemed to confuse her; that was good. The accident scene was surrounded now, mostly students, children peering and pushing through the cracks to see if any mangled bodies were visible. There was a babble of shouting and a gush of shocked thought. I scanned the thoughts once to make sure there were no suspicions yet and then tuned them out and concentrated only on the girl. She was distracted by the bedlam; she glanced around, her expression still stunned, and tried to get to her feet. I put my hand lightly on her shoulder to hold her down. "Just stay put for now." She seemed all right, but should she really be moving her neck again? I wished for Carlile; my years of theoretical medical study were no match for his centuries of hands-on medical practice. "But it's cold," she objected. She had almost been crushed to death two distinct times, and it was the cold that worried her. A chuckle slid through my teeth before I could remember that the situation was not funny. Bella blinked and then her eyes focused on my face. "You were over there…" That sobered me again. She glanced toward the south, though there was nothing to see now.

But the crumpled side of the van? You were by your car. No, I wasn't. I saw you, she insisted. Her voice was childlike in her stubbornness; her chin jutted out. Bella, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way. I stared deeply into her eyes, trying to will her into accepting my version—the only rational version on the table. Her jaw set. No.

I tried to stay calm, to not panic. If only I could keep her quiet for a few moments, to give me a chance to destroy the evidence and undermine her story by disclosing her head injury. Shouldn't it be easy to keep this silent, secretive girl quiet? If only she would follow my lead, just for a few moments. Please, Bella, I said, and my voice was too intense because I suddenly wanted her trust, wanted it badly, and not just in regard to this accident—a stupid desire. What sense would it make for her to trust me? Why? she asked, still defensive. Trust me, I pleaded. Will you promise to explain everything to me later?

It made me angry to have to lie to her again when I so wish that I could somehow deserve her confidence. When I answered her, it was a retort. Fine, fine, she echoed in the same tone, while the rescue attempt began around us; adults arriving, authorities called. Sirens in the distance. I tried to ignore the girl and get my priorities in the right order. I searched through every mind in the lot—the witnesses and the latecomers both—but I could find nothing dangerous. Many were surprised to see me here beside Bella, but all assumed, as there was no other possible conclusion, that they had just not noticed me standing by the girl before the accident. She was the only one who didn't accept the easy explanation, but she would be considered the least reliable witness. She had been frightened, traumatized, not to mention sustaining a blow to her head, possibly in shock. It would be acceptable for her story to be confused, wouldn't it? No one would give it much credence above so many other spectators.

I winced when I caught the thoughts of Rosalie, Jasper, and the EMTs just arriving on the scene. There would be hell to pay for this tonight. I wanted to iron out the indentation my shoulders had made in the tan car, but the girl was too close. I'd have to wait until she was distracted. It was frustrating to wait; so many eyes on me as the humans struggled with the van, trying to pull it away from us. I might have helped them just to speed the process, but I was already in enough trouble, and the girl had sharp eyes. Finally, they were able to shift it far enough away for the EMTs to get to us with their stretchers. A familiar, grizzled face appraised me. Hey, Edward, Brett Warner said. He was also a registered nurse, and I knew him well from the hospital. It was a stroke of luck—the only luck today—that he was the first through to us. In his thoughts, he was noting that I looked alert and calm. You okay, kid? Perfect, Brett. Nothing touched me, but I'm afraid Bella here might have a concussion. She really hit her head when I yanked her out of the way.

Brett turned his attention to the girl, who shot me a fierce look of betrayal. Oh, that was right; she was the quiet martyr. She'd prefer to suffer in silence. She did not contradict my story immediately, though, and this made me feel easier. The next EMT tried to insist that I allow myself to be treated, but it wasn't too difficult to dissuade him. I promised I would have my father examine me, and he let it go. With most humans, speaking with cool assurance was all that was needed; most humans—just not the girl, of course. Did she fit into any of the normal patterns? As they put a neck brace on her and her face flushed scarlet with embarrassment, I used the moment of distraction to quietly rearrange the shape of the dent in the tan car with the back of my foot. Only my siblings noticed what I was doing, and I heard the EMT's mental promise to catch anything I missed. Grateful for his help, and more grateful that the EMT at least had already forgiven my dangerous choice, I was more relaxed as I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance next to Brett.

The chief of police arrived before they had gotten Bella into the back of the ambulance, though. Bella's father's thoughts were past words; the panic and concern emanating from the man's mind drowned out just about every other thought in the vicinity. Wordless anxiety and guilt—a great swell of them—washed out of him as he saw his only daughter on a gurney. When Alice had warned me that killing Charlie Swan's daughter would kill him too, she had not been exaggerating. My head bowed with that guilt as I listened to his panicked voice. Bella, he shouted. I'm completely fine, Dad, she sighed. There's nothing wrong with me. Her assurance barely soothed his dread. He turned at once to the closest EMT and demanded more information. It wasn't until I heard him speaking, forming perfectly coherent sentences despite his panic, that I realized that his anxiety and concern were not wordless; I just could not hear the exact words. Huh. Charlie Swan was not as silent as his daughter, but I could see where she got it from. Interesting. I'd never spent much time around the town's police chief. I'd always taken him for a man of slow thought. Now I realized that I was the one who was slow; his thoughts were partially concealed, not absent. I could only make out the tenor, the tone of them. I wanted to listen harder, to see if I could find in this new, lesser puzzle the key to the girl's secrets, but Bella had been loaded into the back by then, and the ambulance was on its way.

It was hard to tear myself away from this possible solution to the mystery that had come to obsess me, but I had to think now, to look at what had been done today from every angle. I had to listen to make sure that I had not put us all in so much danger that we would have to leave immediately. I had to concentrate. There was nothing in the thoughts of the EMTs to worry me; as far as they could tell, there wasn't anything seriously wrong with the girl, and Bella was sticking to the story I'd provided for now. The first priority when we reached the hospital was to see Carlisle. I hurried through the automatic doors, but I was unable to totally forego watching after Bella. I figuratively kept one eye on her through the paramedics' thoughts. It was easy to find my father's familiar mind; he was in his small office, all alone—the second stroke of luck in this luckless day. Carlisle! He heard my approach and was alarmed as soon as he saw my face. He jumped to his feet and leaned forward across the neatly organized walnut desk. Edward, you didn't—no, no, it's not that—he took a deep breath. Of course not. I'm sorry I entertained the thought. Your eyes—of course I should have known. He noted my still golden eyes with relief. She's hurt, though, Carlisle. Probably not seriously, but what happened? A ridiculous car accident. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I couldn't just stand there and let it crush her.

Start over. I don't understand. How were you involved? A van skitted across the ice, I whispered. I stared at the wall behind him while I spoke. Instead of a throng of framed diplomas, he had one simple oil painting, a favorite of his—an undiscovered Hassam. She was in the way. Alice saw it coming, but there wasn't time to do anything but really run across the lot and shove her out of the way. No one noticed except for her. I had to stop the van too, but again, nobody saw that besides her. I'm—I'm sorry, Carlisle. I didn't mean to put us in danger. He circled the desk and embraced me for a short moment before stepping back. You did the right thing, and it couldn't have been easy for you. I'm proud of you, Edward. I could look him in the eye then. She knows there's something wrong with me. That doesn't matter. If we have to leave, we leave. What has she said?

I shook my head a little, frustrated. Nothing yet. Yet she agreed to my version of events, but she's expecting an explanation. He frowned, pondering this. She hit her head. Well, I did that, I continued quickly. I knocked her to the ground fairly hard. She seems fine, but I don't think it will take much to discredit her account. I felt like a cad just saying the words. Carlisle heard the distaste in my voice. Perhaps that won't be necessary. Let's see what happens, shall we? It sounds like I have a patient to check on. Please, I said. I'm so afraid that I hurt her. Carlisle's expression brightened. He smoothed his fair hair, just a few shades lighter than his golden eyes, and laughed. It's been an interesting day for you, hasn't it? In his mind, I could see the irony, and it was humorous—at least to him. Quite the reversal of roles. Somewhere during that short, thoughtless second when I'd sprinted across the icy lot, I had transformed from killer to protector. I laughed with him, remembering how sure I'd been that Bella would never need protecting from anything more than from me. There was an edge to my laugh because, van notwithstanding, that was still entirely true.

I waited alone in Carlisle's office, one of the longest hours I had ever lived, listening to the hospital full of thoughts. Tyler Crowley, the van's driver, looked to be hurt worse than Bella, and the attention shifted to him while she waited her turn to be X-rayed. Carlisle kept in the background, trusting the PA's diagnosis that the girl was only slightly injured. This made me anxious, but I knew he was right. One glance at his face, and she would be immediately reminded of me, of the fact that there was something not right about my family, and that might set her talking. She certainly had a willing enough partner to converse with; Tyler, consumed with guilt over the fact that he had almost killed her, couldn't seem to shut up about it. I could see her expression through his eyes, and it was clear that she wished he would stop. How did he not see that? There was a tense moment for me when Tyler asked her how she'd gotten out of the way. I waited, frozen, as she hesitated. Um, he heard her say. Then she paused for so long that Tyler wondered if his question had confused her. Finally, she went on. Edward pulled me out—out of the way. I exhaled, and then my breathing accelerated. I'd never heard her speak my name before. I liked the way it sounded, even just hearing it through Tyler's thoughts. I wanted to hear it for myself. Edward Cullen. She said it when Tyler didn't realize whom she meant. I found myself at the door, my hand on the knob; the desire to see her was growing stronger. I had to remind myself of the need for caution. He was standing next to me. Cullen, huh? That's weird. I didn't see him. I could have sworn—wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay? I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher.

I saw the thoughtful look on her face, the suspicious tightening of her eyes, but these little changes in her expression were lost on Tyler. She's pretty, he was thinking, almost in surprise. Even I'll mess up; not my usual type. Still, I should take her out, make up for today. I was out in the hall then, halfway to the emergency room without thinking for one second about what I was doing. Luckily, the nurse entered the room before I could. It was Bella's turn for X-rays. I leaned against the wall in a dark nook just around the corner and tried to get a grip on myself while she was wheeled away. It didn't matter that Tyler thought she was pretty; anyone would notice that. There was no reason for me to feel—how did I feel? Annoyed? Or was it anger? Closer to the truth—that made no sense at all. I stayed where I was for as long as I could, but impatience got the best of me, and I took a roundabout way to the Radiology room. She'd already been moved back to the ER, but I was able to peek at her X-rays while the nurse's attention was elsewhere. I felt calmer when I had—her head was fine. I hadn't hurt her—not really. Carlisle caught me there. You look better, he commented. I just looked straight ahead. We weren't alone; the halls full of orderlies and visitors. Ah, yes, he stuck her X-rays to the lightboard, but I didn't need a second look. I see she's absolutely fine. Well done, Edward.

The sound of my father's approval created a mixed reaction in me. I would have been pleased except that I knew he would not approve of what I was going to do now—at least he would not approve if he knew my real motivations. I think I'm going to go talk to her before she sees you, I murmured under my breath. To act natural, like nothing happened; smooth it over; all acceptable reasons. Carlisle nodded absently, still looking over the X-rays. Good idea. I looked to see what had his interest. Look at all the healed contusions. How many times did her mother drop her? Carlisle laughed to himself at his joke. I'm beginning to think the girl just has really bad luck; always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Forks is certainly the wrong place for her—with you here. I flinched. Go ahead, smooth things over. I'll join you momentarily.

I walked away quickly, feeling guilty. Perhaps I was too good a liar; if I could fool Carlisle. When I got to the ER, Tyler was mumbling under his breath, still apologizing. The girl was trying to escape his remorse by pretending to sleep; her eyes were closed, but her breathing was not even, and now and then her fingers would twitch impatiently. I stared at her face for a long moment. This was the last time I would see her. The fact triggered an acute aching in my chest. Was it because I hated to leave any puzzle unsolved? That did not seem enough of an explanation. Finally, I took a deep breath and moved into view. When Tyler saw me, he started to speak, but I put one finger to my lips. Is she sleeping? I murmured. Bella's eyes snapped open and focused on my face. They widened momentarily, and then narrowed—Ed—in anger or suspicion. I remembered that I had a role to play, so I smiled at her as if nothing unusual had happened this morning besides a blow to her head and a bit of imagination run wild. Hey, Edward, Tyler said. I'm really sorry. I raised one hand to halt his apology. No blood, no foul, I said, Riley, without thinking. I smiled too widely at my private joke. Tyler shivered and looked away. It was amazingly easy to ignore Tyler, lying no more than four feet from me, his deeper wounds still oozing blood. I'd never understood how Carlisle was able to do that—ignore the blood of his patients in order to treat them. Wouldn't the constant temptation be so distracting, so dangerous? But now I could see how, if you were focusing on something else hard enough, the temptation would be nothing at all. Even fresh and exposed, Tyler's blood had nothing on Bella's. I kept my distance from her, seating myself on the foot of Tyler's mattress. So what's the verdict? I asked her. Her lower lip pushed out a little. There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go. How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us? Her impatience made me smile again. I could hear Carlisle in the hall now. It's all about who you know, I said lightly. But don't worry, I came to spring you.

I watched her reaction carefully as my father entered the room. Her eyes went round, and her mouth actually fell open in surprise. I groaned internally. Yes, she'd certainly notice the resemblance. So, Miss Swan, how are you feeling? Carlisle asked. He had a wonderfully soothing bedside manner that put most patients at ease within moments. I couldn't tell how it affected Bella. I'm fine, she said quietly. Carlisle clipped her X-rays to the lightboard by the bed. Your X-rays look good. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard. She sighed and said, It's fine, again, but this time impatience leaked into her voice. She glowered once in my direction. Carlisle stepped closer to her and ran his fingers gently over her scalp until he found the bump under her hair. I was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that crashed upon me. I had seen Carlisle work with humans a thousand times—years ago I had even assisted him informally, though only in situations where blood was not involved—so it wasn't a new thing to me to watch him interact with the girl as if he were as human as she was. I'd envied his control many times, but that was not the same as this emotion. I envied him more than his control; I ached for the difference between Carlisle and me—that he could touch her so gently without fear, knowing he would never harm her. She winced, and I twitched in my seat. I had to concentrate for a moment to regain my relaxed posture. Tender, Carlisle asked. Her chin jerked up a fraction. Not really, she said. Another small piece of her character fell into place: she was brave; she didn't like to show weakness—possibly the most vulnerable creature I'd ever seen—and she didn't want to seem weak. A chuckle slid through my lips. She shot another glare at me. Well, Carlisle said, your father is in the waiting room. You can go home with him now, but come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all. Her father was here. I swept through the thoughts in the crowded waiting room, but I couldn't pick his subtle mental voice out of the group before she was speaking again, her face anxious. Can I go back to school? Maybe you should take it easy today, Carlisle suggested. Her eyes flickered back to me. Does he get to go to school? Act normal; smooth things over; ignore the way it feels when she looks me in the eye. Someone has to spread the good news that we survived, I said. Actually, Carlisle corrected, most of the school seems to be in the waiting room. I anticipated her reaction this time—her aversion to attention. She didn't disappoint. Oh, no, she moaned and put her hands over her face. I liked that I'd finally guessed right, that I was beginning to understand her. Do you want to stay? Carlisle asked. No, no, she said quickly, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress and sliding down until her feet were on the floor. She stumbled forward, off balance, into Carlisle's arms. He caught and steadied her again; the envy flooded through me. I'm fine, she said before he could comment, faint pink in her cheeks. Of course, that wouldn't bother Carlisle. He made sure she was balanced and then dropped his hands. Take some Tylenol for the pain, he instructed. It doesn't hurt that bad. Carlisle smiled as he signed her chart. It sounds like you were extremely lucky. She turned her face like to stare at me with hard eyes. Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me. Oh, well, yes, Carlisle agreed quickly, hearing the same thing in her voice that I heard: she hadn't written her suspicions off as imagination—not yet. All yours, Carlisle thought. Handle it as you think best. Thanks so much, I whispered, quick and quiet; neither human heard me. Carlisle's lips turned up a tiny bit at my sarcasm as he turned to Tyler. I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer, he said as he began examining the superficial lacerations left by the shattered windshield. Well, I had made the mess, so it was only fair that I had to deal with it.

Bella walked deliberately toward me, not stopping until she was uncomfortably close. I remembered how I had hoped, before all the chaos, that she would approach me. This was like a mockery of that wish. Can I talk to you for a minute? she hissed at me. Her warm breath swept across my face, and I had to stagger back a step. Her appeal had not abated one bit; every time she was near me, it triggered all my worst, most urgent instincts. Venom flowed in my mouth, and my body yearned to strike, to wrench her into my arms and crush her throat with my teeth. My mind was stronger than my body, but only just. Your father is waiting for you, I reminded her; my jaw clenched tight. She glanced toward Carlisle and Tyler. Tyler was paying no attention at all, but Carlisle was monitoring my every breath carefully. Edward, I'd like to speak to you alone, if you don't mind, she insisted in a low voice. I wanted to tell her that I did mind very much, but I knew I would have to do this eventually. I might as well get on with it. I was full of so many conflicting emotions as I stalked out of the room, listening to her stumbling footsteps behind me, trying to keep up. I had a show to put on now. I knew the role I would play; I had the character down. I would be the villain; I would lie and ridicule and be cruel. It went against all my better impulses—the human impulses that I'd clung to through so many years. I'd never wanted to deserve trust more than in this moment when I had to destroy all possibility of it. It made it worse to know that this would be the last memory she would have of me; this was my farewell scene.

I turned on her. What do you want? I asked coldly. She cringed back slightly from my hostility; her eyes turned bewildered, her face shifting into the very expression that had haunted me. You owe me an explanation, she said in a small voice. What little color she had drained from her ivory skin. It was very hard to keep my voice harsh. I saved your life. I don't owe you anything. She flinched. It stung like acid to watch my words hurt her. You promised, she whispered. Bella, you hit your head; you don't know what you're talking about. Her chin came up. Then there's nothing wrong with my head. She was angry now, and that made it easier for me. I met her glare, arranging my face so it was colder, harder. What do you want from me, Bella? I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you. What she wanted was only fair. It frustrated me to have to deny her. What do you think happened? I nearly growled. Her words poured out in a torrent. All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me, and Tyler didn't see you either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both, and it didn't, and your hands left dents in the side of it, and you left the dent in the other car, and you're not hurt at all, and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up. Suddenly she clenched her teeth together, and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. I stared at her, my expression thoroughly derisive, though what I really felt was awe. She had seen everything. You think I lifted a van off you? I asked, elevating the level of sarcasm in my tone. She answered with one stiff nod. My voice grew more mocking. Nobody will believe that, you know. She made an effort to control her emotions, her anger. It looked like, when she answered me, she spoke each word with slow deliberation. I'm not going to tell anybody. She meant it; I could see that in her eyes. Even furious and betrayed, she would keep my secret. Why? The shock of it ruined my carefully designed expression for half a second, and then I pulled myself together. Then why does it matter? I asked, working to keep my voice severe. It matters to me, she said intensely. I don't like to lie, so there better be a good reason why I'm doing it. She was asking me to trust her, just as I wanted her to trust me, but this was a line I could not cross. My voice stayed callous. Can't you just thank me and get it over with? Thank you, she said, and then she fumed in silence, waiting. You're not going to let it go, are you? No. In that case, I couldn't tell her the truth if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. I'd rather she made up her own story than know what I was, because nothing could be worse than the truth. I was an undead nightmare straight from the pages of a horror novel. I hope you enjoy disappointment. We scowled at each other. She flushed pink and ground her teeth again. Why did you even bother? Her question wasn't one that I was expecting or prepared to answer. I lost my hold on the role I was—

Playing. I felt the mask slip from my face, and I told her, this one time, the truth. I don't know. I memorized her face one last time; it was still set in lines of anger, the blood not yet faded from her cheeks. And then I turned and walked away from her.

Chapter 4: Visions. I went back to school. This was the right thing to do, the most inconspicuous way to behave. By the end of the day, almost all the other students had returned to class too. Just Tyler and Bella and a few others who were probably using the accident as a chance to ditch remained absent. It shouldn't have been so hard for me to do the right thing, but all afternoon I was gritting my teeth against the urge that had me yearning to ditch too, in order to go find the girl again. Like a stalker, an obsessed stalker, an obsessed vampire stalker. School today was somehow impossibly even more boring than it had seemed just a week ago. Comike, it was as if the color had drained from the bricks, the trees, the sky, the faces around me. I stared at the cracks in the walls. There was another right thing I should be doing that I was not, of course. It was also a wrong thing; it all depended on one's perspective. From the perspective of a Cullen—not just a vampire, but a Cullen, someone who belonged to a family, such a rare state in our world—the right thing would have gone something like this:

"I'm surprised to see you in class, Edward. I heard you were involved in that awful accident this morning."

"Yes, I was, Mr. Banner, but I was the lucky one." A friendly smile. "I didn't get hurt at all."

"I wish I could say the same for Tyler and Bella. How are they?"

"I think Tyler is fine, just some superficial scrapes from the windshield glass. I'm not sure about Bella though." A worried frown. "She might have a concussion. I heard she was pretty incoherent for a while, seeing things. Even I know the doctors were worried."

That's how it should have gone. That's what I owed my family.

"I'm surprised to see you in class, Edward. I heard you were involved in that awful accident this morning." No smile.

"I wasn't hurt, Mr. Banner." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

"Do you have any idea how Tyler Crowley and Bella Swan are? I heard there were some injuries."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

Mr. Banner cleared his throat. "Uh, right," he said, my cold stare making his voice sound a bit strained. He walked quickly back to the front of the classroom and began his lecture.

It was the wrong thing to do, unless you looked at it from a more obscure point of view. It just seemed so, so unchivalrous to slander the girl behind her back, especially when she was proving more trustworthy than I could have dreamed. She hadn't said anything to betray me, despite having good reason to do so. Would I betray her when she had done nothing but keep my secret? I had a nearly identical conversation with Mrs. Goff, just in Spanish rather than in English. EMT gave me a long look. "I hope you have a good explanation for what happened today. Rose is on a warpath." I rolled my eyes without looking at him. I actually had come up with a perfectly sound explanation. Just suppose I hadn't done anything to stop the van from crushing the girl. I recoiled from that thought. But if she had been hit, if she'd been mangled and bleeding, the red fluid spilling, wasting on the blacktop, the scent of the fresh blood pulsing through the air… I shuddered again, but not just in horror; part of me shivered in desire. No, I would not have been able to watch her bleed without exposing us all in a much more flagrant and shocking way. It was a perfectly sound excuse, but I wouldn't use it; it was too shameful, and I hadn't thought of it until long after the fact. Regardless. "Look out for Jasper," EMT went on, oblivious to my revery. "He's not angry, but he is more resolved." I saw what he meant, and for a moment the room swam around me. The flash of rage was so all-consuming that a red haze clouded my vision. I thought I would choke on it.

"Edward, get a grip!" EMT shouted at me in his head. His hand came down on my shoulder, holding me in my seat before I could jump to my feet. He rarely used his full strength; there was almost never a need for it. He was so much stronger than any vampire we'd ever encountered, but he used it now. He gripped my arm rather than pushing me down; if he'd been pushing, the chair under would have collapsed easy. "He ordered," I tried to calm myself, but it was hard. The rage burned in my head. "Jasper's not going to do anything until we all talk. I just thought you should know the direction he's headed." I concentrated on relaxing and felt EMT's hand loosen. "Try not to make more of a spectacle of yourself; you're in enough trouble as it is." I took a deep breath, and EMT released me. I searched around the room routinely, but our confrontation had been so short and silent that only a few people sitting behind EMT had even noticed. None of them knew what to make of it, and they shrugged it off. The Cullens were freaks; everyone knew that already.

"Damn kid, you're a mess," EMT added, sympathy in his tone.

"Bite me," I muttered under my breath, and I heard his low chuckle.

EMT didn't hold grudges, and I probably ought to have been more grateful for his easygoing acceptance, but I could see that Jasper's intentions made sense to him, that he was considering how it might be the best course of action. The rage simmered, barely under control. Yes, EMT was stronger than I was, but he'd yet to beat me in a wrestling match. He claimed that this was because I cheated, but hearing thoughts was just as much a part of who I was as his immense strength was a part of him. We were evenly matched in a fight. A fight—was that where this was headed? Was I going to fight with my… my family over a human I barely knew? I thought about that for a moment, thought about the fragile feel of the girl's body in my arms. In Ju AOS with Jasper, Rose, and EMT—supernaturally strong and fast killing machines by nature—yes, I would fight for her against my family. I shuddered, but it wasn't fair to leave her undefended when I was the one who'd put her in danger. I couldn't win alone, though—not against the three of them—and I wondered who my allies would be. Carlisle, certainly; he would not fight anyone, but he would be wholly against Rose's and Jasper's designs. That might be all I needed. Esme—doubtful. She would not side against me either, and she would hate to disagree with Carlisle, but she would be for any plan that kept her family intact. Her first priority would not be what was right, but me. If Carlisle was the soul of our family, then Esme was the heart. He gave us a leader who deserved following; she made that following into an act of love. We all loved each other, even under the fury I felt toward Jasper and Rose right now, even planning to fight them to save the girl. I knew that I loved them. Alice—I had no idea. It would probably depend on what she saw coming. She would side with the wind, I imagined, so I would have to do this without help. I wasn't a match for them alone, but I wasn't going to let the girl be hurt because of me. That might mean evasive action. My rage dulled a bit with the sudden black humor. I tried to imagine how the girl would react to my kidnapping her. Of course, I rarely guessed her reactions right, but what other response could she have besides terror? I wasn't sure how to imagine that though—kidnapping her. I wouldn't be able to stand being close to her for very long. Perhaps I would just deliver her back to her mother. Even that much would be fraught with danger for her and also for me. I realized suddenly, if I were to kill her by accident, I wasn't certain exactly how much pain that would cause me, but I knew it would be multifaceted and intense. The time passed quickly while I mulled over all the complications ahead of me: the argument waiting for me at home, the conflict with my family, the lengths I might be forced to go to afterward. Well, I couldn't complain that life outside this school was monotonous; the girl had changed that much.

EMT and I walked silently to the car when the bell rang. He was worrying about me and worrying about Rosalie. He knew he would have no choice when it came to pick sides, and it bothered him. The others were waiting for us in the car, also silent. We were a very quiet group. Only I could hear the shouting: idiot, lunatic, jackass, selfish, irresponsible fool. Rosalie kept up a constant stream of insults at the top of her mental lungs. It made it hard to hear the others, but I ignored her as best I could. EMT was right about Jasper; he was sure of his course. Alice was troubled, worrying about Jasper, flipping through images of the future. No matter which direction Jasper came at the girl, Alice always saw me there, blocking him. Interesting. Neither Rosalie nor EMT was with him in these visions, so Jasper planned to work alone. That would even things up. Jasper was the best, certainly the most experienced fighter among us. My one advantage lay in that I could hear his moves before he made them. I had never fought more than playfully with my brothers, just horsing around. I felt sick at the thought of really trying to hurt Jasper—no, not that, just to block him. That was all I concentrated on, Alice memorizing Jasper's different avenues of attack. As I did that, her vision shifted, moving farther and farther away from the Swan's house. I was cutting him off earlier.

"Stop that, Edward," she snapped. "It can't happen this way. I won't let it."

I didn't answer her; I just kept watching. She began searching further ahead into the misty, unsure realm of distant possibilities. Everything was shadowy and vague.

The charged silence did not lift the entire way home. I parked in the big garage off the house. Carlisle's Mercedes was there next to EMT's big Jeep, Rose's M3, and my Vanquish. I was glad Carlisle was already home; this silence could end explosively, and I wanted him there when that happened. We went straight to the dining room. The room was, of course, never used for its intended purpose, but it was furnished with a long oval mahogany table surrounded by chairs. We were scrupulous about having all the correct props in place. Carlisle liked to use it as a conference room. In a group with such strong and disparate personalities, sometimes it was necessary to discuss things in a calm, serene manner. I had a feeling that the setting was not going to help much today. Carlisle sat in his usual spot at the eastern head of the room. Esme was beside him; they held hands on top of the table. Esme's eyes were on me; their golden depths full of concern. *Stay,* was her only thought. She had no idea of what was about to start; she was just worried about me. I wished I could smile at the woman who was truly mother to me, but I had no reassurances for her now. I sat on Carlisle's other side. Carlisle had a better sense of what was coming; his lips were pressed tightly together, and his forehead was creased. The expression looked too old for his young face. As everyone else sat, I could see the lines being drawn. Rosalie sat directly across from Carlisle at the other end of the long table; she glared at me, never looking away. EMT sat beside her; his face and thoughts both… Jasper hesitated and then went to stand against the wall behind Rosalie. He was decided, regardless of the outcome of this discussion. My teeth locked together. Alice was the last to come in, and her eyes were focused on something far away, the future still too indistinct for her to make use of it. Without seeming to think about it, she sat next to Esme. She rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. Jasper twitched uneasily and considered joining her, but he kept his place. I took a deep breath. I had started this; I should speak first.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking first at Rose, then Jasper, and then EMT. "I didn't mean to put any of you at risk. It was thoughtless, and I take full responsibility for my hasty action."

Rosalie glared at me balefully. "What do you mean, take full responsibility? Are you going to fix it?"

"Not the way you mean," I said, working to keep my voice even and quiet. I was already planning to leave before this happened. "I'll go now if I believe that the girl will be safe," I amended in my head. "If I believe that none of you will touch her, the situation will resolve itself."

"No," Esme murmured.

"No, Edward,"

I patted her hand. "It's just a few years."

"Esme's right, though," EMT said. "You can't go anywhere; that would be the opposite of helpful. We have to know what people are thinking now, more than ever. Alice will catch anything major."

I disagreed.

Carlisle shook his head. "I think EMT is right, Edward. The girl will be more likely to talk if you disappear. It's all of us leave or none of us."

"She won't say anything," I insisted quickly. Rose was building up to the explosion, and I wanted this fact out there first.

"You don't know her mind," Carlisle reminded me.

"I know this much," Alice backed me up. Alice stared up at me wearily. "I can't see what will happen if we just ignore this." She glanced at Rose and Jasper. No, she couldn't see that future, not when Rosalie and Jasper were so decided against ignoring the incident.

Rose's palm smacked down on the table with a loud bang. "We can't allow the human a chance to say anything. Carlisle, you must see that even if we decided to all disappear, it's not safe to leave stories behind us. We live so differently from the rest of our kind. You know there are those who would love an excuse to point fingers. We have to be more careful than anyone else."

"We've left rumors behind us before," I reminded her.

"Just rumors and suspicions, Edward, not eyewitnesses and evidence."

"Evidence," I scoffed, but Jasper was nodding, his eyes hard.

"Rose," Carlisle began.

"Let me finish," Carlisle. "It doesn't have to be any big production. The girl hit her head today, so maybe that injury turns out to be more serious than it looked."

Rosalie shrugged. "Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. The others would expect us to clean up after ourselves. Technically, that would make it Edward's job, but this is obviously beyond him."

"You know I'm capable of control. I would leave no evidence behind me."

"Yes, Rosalie, we all know how proficient an assassin you are," I snarled. She hissed at me, momentarily beyond words. If only that could last.

"Edward, please," Carlisle said. Then he turned to Rosalie. "Rosalie, I looked the other way in Rochester because I felt that you were owed your justice. The men you killed had wronged you monstrously. This is not the same situation; the Swan girl is entirely innocent. It's not personal."

"Carlisle," Rosalie said through her teeth, "it's to protect us all."

There was a brief moment of silence while Carlisle thought through his answer. When he nodded, Rosy's eyes lit up. She should have known better; even if I hadn't been able to read his thoughts, I could have anticipated his next words. Carlisle never compromised.

"I know you mean well, Rosalie, but I'd like very much for our family to be worth protecting. The occasional accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of what we are." It was very like him to include himself in the plural, though he had never had such a lapse himself. "To murder a blameless child in cold blood is another thing entirely. I believe the risk she presents, whether she speaks her suspicions or not, is nothing to the greater risk. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important; we risk losing the essence of who we are."

I controlled my expression very carefully; it wouldn't do at all to grin or to applaud as I wished I could. Rosalie scowled. "It's just being responsible."

"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected gently. "Every life is precious."

Rosalie sighed heavily, and her lower lip pouted out. EMT patted her shoulder. "It'll be fine, Rose," he encouraged in a low voice.

"The question," Carlisle continued, "is whether we should move on."

"No," Rosalie moaned. "We just got settled. I don't want to start on my sophomore year in high school again."

"You could keep your present age, of course," Carlisle said.

"And have to move again that much sooner," she countered.

Carlisle shrugged. "I like it here. There's so little sun; we get to be almost normal."

"Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. We can wait and see if it becomes necessary. Edward seems certain of the Swan girl's silence."

Rosalie snorted, but I was no longer worried about Rose. I could see that she would go along with Carlisle's decision, no matter how infuriated she was with me. Their conversation had moved on to unimportant details. Jasper remained unmoved. I understood why. Before he and Alice had met, he'd lived in a combat zone, a relentless theater of war. He knew the consequences of flouting the rules; he'd seen the grizzly aftermath with his own eyes. It said much that he had not tried to calm Rosalie down with his extra faculties, nor did he now try to rile her up. He was holding himself aloof from this discussion, above it.

"Jasper," I said. He met my gaze, his face expressionless.

"She won't pay for my mistake. I won't allow that."

"She benefits from it, then she should have died today, Edward," I would only said it right. I repeated myself, emphasizing each word. "I will not allow it."

His eyebrow shot up; he wasn't expecting this. He hadn't imagined that I would act to stop him. He shook his head once. "I will not let Alice live in danger, even a slight danger."

"You don't feel about anyone the way I feel about her, Edward, and you haven't lived through what I've lived through. Whether you've seen my memories or not, you don't understand."

"I'm not disputing that, Jasper, but I'm telling you now, I won't allow you to hurt Isabella Swan."

We stared at each other, not glaring, but measuring the opposition. I felt him sample the mood around me, testing my determination.

"Jazz," Alice said, interrupting us. He held my gaze for a moment more and then looked at her.

"Don't bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice; I already know that. It doesn't change…"

"That's not what I'm going to say," Alice interrupted. "I was going to ask you for a favor."

I saw what was on her mind, and my mouth fell open with an audible gasp. I stared at her, shocked, only vaguely aware that everyone besides Alice and Jasper was now eyeing me wearily.

"I know you love me, thanks, but I would really appreciate it if you didn't try to kill Bella. First of all, Edward's quite serious, and I don't want you two fighting. Secondly, she's my friend—at least she's going to be."

It was clear as glass in her head: Alice smiling with her icy white arm around the girl's warm, fragile shoulders, and Bella was smiling too, her arm around Alice's waist. The vision was rock solid; only the timing of it was unsure.

"But Alice…" Jasper gasped. I couldn't manage to turn my head to see his expression; I couldn't tear myself away from the image and Alice's vision in order to hear his thoughts.

"I'm going to love her someday, Jazz. I'll be very put out with you if you don't let her be."

I was still locked into Alice's thoughts. I saw the future shimmer as Jasper's resolve floundered in the face of her unexpected request.

"Ah," she sighed. His indecision had cleared a new future. "See, Bella's not going to say anything. There's nothing to worry about." The way she said the girl's name, like they were already close confidants…

"Alice," I choked. "What does this…"

"I told you there was a change coming. I don't know, Edward," but she locked her jaw, and I could see that there was more she was trying not to think about it. She was focusing very hard on Jasper. Suddenly, though, he was too stunned to have progressed much in his decision-making. She did this sometimes when she was trying to keep something from me.

"What, Alice? What are you hiding?" I heard EMT grumble. He always got frustrated when Alice and I had these kinds of conversations.

She shook her head, trying not to let me in.

"Is it about the girl?" I demanded. "Is it about Bella?" She had her teeth gritted in concentration, but when I spoke Bella's name, she slipped. Her slip only lasted the tiniest portion of a second, but that was long enough.

"No!" I shouted. I heard my chair hit the floor and only then realized I was on my feet.

"Edward," Carlisle was on his feet too, gripping my shoulder. I was barely aware of him.

"It's solidifying," Alice whispered. "Every minute you're more decided. There are really only two ways left for her. It's one or the other, Edward." I could see what she saw, but I could not accept it.

"No," I said again. There was no volume to my denial. My legs felt hollow, and I had to brace myself against the table. Carlisle's hand fell away.

"That is so annoying," EMT complained.

"I have to leave," I whispered to Alice, ignoring him.

"Edward," EMT said loudly. "We've already been over that. That's the best way to start the girl talking. Besides, if you take off, we won't know for sure if she's talking or not. You have to stay and deal with this."

"I don't see you going anywhere, Edward," Alice told me. "I don't know if you can leave anymore. Think about it," she added silently. *Think about leaving.*

I understood what she meant. Yes, the idea of never seeing the girl again was painful. I'd already felt that in the hospital hallway where I'd given her such a harsh farewell, but now leaving was even more necessary. I couldn't sanction either future I'd apparently condemned her to.

"I'm not entirely sure of Jasper, Edward," Alice went on. "If you leave, if he thinks she's a danger to us…"

"I don't hear that," I contradicted her, still only halfway aware of our audience. Jasper was wavering; he would not do something that would hurt Alice, not right this moment.

"Will you risk her life? Leave her undefended?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I groaned. My head fell into my hands. I was not Bella's protector. I could not be that. Wasn't Alice's divided future enough proof of that?

"I love her too, or I will. It's not the same, but I want her around for that."

"Love her too," I whispered, incredulous.

She sighed. "You are so blind, Edward. Can't you see where you're headed? Can't you see where you already are? It's more inevitable than the sun rising tomorrow morning. See what I see."

I shook my head, horrified. "No," I tried to shut out the vision she revealed to me. "I don't have to follow that course. I'll leave. I will change the future."

"You can try," she said, her voice skeptical.

"Oh, come on," EMT bellowed. "Pay attention, Rose. He's at him. Alice sees him falling for a human. How classically Edward," she made a gagging sound. I scarcely heard her.

"What?" EMT said, startled, then his booming laugh echoed through the room. "Is that what's been going on?" He laughed again. "Tough break, Edward." I felt his hand touch my arm, but I shook it off absently. I couldn't pay attention to him.

"Fall for a human," Esme repeated in a stunned voice. "For the girl he saved today? Fall in love with her?"

"What do you see, Alice? Exactly?" Jasper demanded. She turned toward him. I continued to stare numbly at the side of her face.

"It all depends on whether he is strong enough. Either he'll kill her himself," she turned to meet my gaze again, glaring—which would really irritate me, Edward, not to mention what it would do to you. She faced Jasper again. "Or she'll be one of us someday." Someone gasped; I didn't look to see who.

"That's not going to happen," I was shouting again.

"Either one," Alice spoke as if she hadn't heard me. "It all depends," she repeated. "He may be just strong enough not to kill her, but it will be close. It will take an amazing amount of control," she mused. "More even than Carlisle has. The only thing he's not strong enough to do is stay away from her. That's a lost cause."

I couldn't find my voice; no one else seemed to be able to either. The room was still. I stared at Alice, and everyone else stared at me. I could see my own horrified expression from five different viewpoints. After a long moment, Carlisle sighed.

"Well, this complicates things," I'll say.

EMT agreed; his voice was still close to laughter. "Trust."

EMT to find the joke and the destruction of my life. I suppose the plans remain the same, though. Carlile said thoughtfully, "Will stay and watch." Obviously, no one will hurt the girl. I stiffened. "No," Jasper said quietly. "I can agree to that."

If Alice sees only two ways… No. My voice was not a shout, or a growl, or a cry of Despair, but some combination of the three. No, I had to leave, to be away from the noise of their thoughts—Rosal's self-righteous disgust, EMT's humor, Carlile's never-ending patience, worse, Alice's confidence, Jasper's confidence in that confidence, worst of all, Esme's joy. I stalked out of the room. Esme reached for my hand as I passed, but I didn't acknowledge the gesture. I was running before I was out of the house. I cleared the lawn and river in one bound and raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a few seconds. I liked the thick sheet of water; it made a wall between me and the rest of the world. It closed me in, let me be alone.

I ran due east, over and through the mountains without breaking my straight course until I could see a hazy hint of Seattle lights on the other side of the sound. I stopped before I touched the borders of human civilization, shut in by the rain, all alone. I finally made myself look at what I had done, at the way I had mutilated the future. First, the vision of Alice and the girl with their arms around each other, walking together in the forest near the high school. The trust and friendship was so obvious, it sang out from the image. Bella's wide chocolate eyes were not confused in this vision, but still full of secrets; in this moment, they seemed to be happy secrets. She did not flinch away from Alice's cold arm. What did it mean? How much did she know?

And that still-life moment from the future—what did she think of me then? The other image, so much the same, yet now colored by horror: Alice and Bella on the front porch of my house, their arms still wrapped around each other in trusting friendship, but now there was no difference between those arms—both were white, smooth as marble, hard as steel. Bella's eyes were no longer the color of chocolate; the irises were a shocking vivid crimson. The secrets in them were unfathomable—acceptance or desolation; it was impossible to tell. Her face was cold and immortal. I shuddered. I could not suppress the questions—similar, but different: What did it mean? How had this come about? And what did she think of me now? I could answer that last one: if I forced her into this empty half-life through my weakness and selfishness, surely she would hate me.

But there was one even more horrifying image, worse than any I'd ever held inside my head: my own eyes, deep crimson with human blood, the eyes of the monster; Bella's broken body in my arms, ashy white, drained, lifeless. It was so concrete, so clear, I couldn't stand to see this, could not bear it. I tried to banish it from my mind, tried to see something, anything else, tried to see again the expression on her living face that had obstructed my view for the last chapter of my existence—all to no avail. Alice's bleak vision filled my head, and I writhed internally with the agony it caused. Meanwhile, the monster in me was overflowing with glee, jubilant at the likelihood of his success. It sickened me. This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I would not let Alice's visions direct me. I could choose a different path. There was always a choice. There had to be.

Chapter 5: Invitations. High School Purgatory no longer; it was now purely hell—torment and fire. Yes, I had both. I was doing everything correctly now—every i dotted, every t crossed. No one could complain that I was shirking my responsibilities, to please Esme and protect the others. I stayed in Forks. I returned to my old schedule. I hunted no more than the rest of them. Every day I attended high school and played human. Every day I listened carefully for anything new about the Cullens. There was never anything new. The girl did not speak one word of her suspicions; she just repeated the same story. I'd been standing with her and then pulled her out of the way, till her eager listeners got bored and stopped looking for more details. There was no danger; my hasty action had hurt no one—no one but myself. I was determined to change the future—not the easiest task to set for oneself, but there was no other choice.

"I could live with," Alice said, "that I would not be strong enough to stay away from the girl." I would prove her wrong. I'd thought the first day would be the hardest; by the end of it, I'd been sure that was the case. I'd been wrong, though. It had wrinkled knowing that I would hurt the girl. I'd comforted myself with the fact that her pain would be nothing more than a pinprick—just a tiny sting of rejection compared to mine. Bella was human, and she knew that I was something else—something wrong, something frightening. She would probably be more relieved than wounded when I turned my face away from her and pretended that she didn't exist.

"Hello, Edward," she greeted me that first day back in biology. Her voice had been pleasant, friendly—180° from the last time I'd spoken with her. Why? What did the change mean? Had she forgotten? Decided she had imagined the whole episode? Could she possibly have forgiven me for not following through on my promise? The questions had stabbed and twisted like the thirst that attacked me every time I breathed. Just one moment to look in her eyes, just to see if I could read the answers there… No. I could not allow myself even that—not if I was going to change the future. I'd moved my chin an inch in her direction without looking away from the front of the room. I'd not, at once, then turned my face straight forward. She did not speak to me again that afternoon. As soon as school was finished, my role played, I ran halfway to Seattle, as I had the day before. It seemed that I could handle the aching just slightly better when I was flying over the ground, turning everything around me into a green blur. This run became my daily habit.

Did I love her? I did not think so—not yet. Alice's glimpses of that future had stayed with me, though, and I could see how easy it would be to fall into loving Bella. It would be exactly like falling—effortless. Not letting myself love her was the opposite of falling; it was pulling myself up a cliff face, hand over hand—the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength. More than a month passed, and every day it got harder. That made no sense to me. I kept waiting to get over it, to have the struggle become easier, or at least level off. This must be what Alice had meant when she'd predicted that I would not be able to stay away from the girl. She had seen the escalation of the pain, but I could handle pain. I would not destroy Bella's future. If I was destined to love her, then wasn't avoiding her the very least I could do? Avoiding her was about the limit of what I could bear, though. I could pretend to ignore her and never look her way. I could pretend that she was of no interest to me, but I still hung on every breath she took, every word she spoke. I couldn't watch her with my eyes, so I watched her through the eyes of others. The vast majority of my thoughts revolved around her, as though she was the center of my mind's gravity.

As this hell ground on, I lumped my torments into four categories. The first two were familiar: her scent and her silence—or rather, to take the responsibility on myself where it belonged—my thirst and my curiosity. The thirst was the most primal of my torments; it was my habit now to simply not breathe at all in biology, of course there were always the exceptions when I had to answer a question and I would need my breath to speak. Each time I tasted the air around the girl, it was the same as the first day—fire and need and brutal violence, desperate to break free. It was hard to cling even slightly to reason or restraint in those moments, and just like that first day, the monster in me would roar, so close to the surface. The curiosity was the most constant of my torments; the question was never out of my mind: What is she thinking now? When I heard her quiet sigh, when she twisted a lock of hair absently around her finger, when she threw her books down with more force than usual, when she rushed into class late, when she tapped her foot impatiently against the floor—each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery. When she spoke to the other human students, I analyzed her every word and tone: Was she speaking her thoughts, or what she thought she should say? It often sounded to me as though she was trying to say what her audience expected, and this reminded me of my family and our daily life of illusion. We were better at it than she was, but why would she have to play a role? She was one of them—a human teenager—only she occasionally didn't behave like one.

For example, when Mr. Banner assigned a group project in biology, it was his practice to let the students choose their partners. As always happened with group projects, the bravest of the ambitious students, Beth Daws and Nicholas Legari, quickly asked if I would join them. I shrugged my acceptance; they knew I would complete my portion perfectly, and theirs too if they left it undone. It was unsurprising that Mike allied himself with Bella; what was unexpected was Bella's insistence on the third member of their group, Tara Galves. Mr. Banner usually had to assign Tara to a group; she looked more surprised than pleased when Bella tapped her on the shoulder and awkwardly asked if she wanted to work with her and Mike. Whatever Tara responded when she was back at her seat, Mike hissed at her, "She's a total stoner; she won't do any work. I think she's failing biology." Bella shook her head and whispered back, "Don't… don't worry about it. I'll catch whatever she misses." Mike wasn't appeased. "Why did you do that?" It was the same question I was dying to ask her, though not in the same tone. Tara was, in fact, failing biology; Mr. Banner was thinking about her now, both surprised and touched by Bella's choice. No one ever gives that kid a chance. Nice of Bella. She's kinder than most of these cannibals. Had Bella noticed how Tara was usually ostracized by the rest of the class? I could imagine no reason besides kindness for reaching out to her, especially with Bella's shyness, in the way I wondered how much discomfort it had caused her and decided it was probably more than any other human here would have been willing to go through for a stranger. Given Bella's grasp of biology, I wondered if the grade from this project would even save Tara from failure in this class, at least. And that was exactly what happened.

Then there was the time at lunch when Jessica and Lauren were talking about the number one dream destinations on their bucket list. Jessica chose Jamaica, only to feel immediately one-upped when Lauren countered with the French Riviera. Tyler chimed in with Amsterdam, thinking of the famous red-light district, and the others began sounding off. I waited anxiously for Bella's answer to the question, but before Mike, who liked the idea of Rio, could ask for her take, Eric enthusiastically named Comic-Con, and the table erupted in laughter. "What a dork," Lauren hissed. Jessica snickered, "I know, right." Tyler rolled his eyes, "You're never going to get a girlfriend." Mike told Eric, "Bella's voice, louder than her usual timid volume, cut into the melee. 'No, that's cool,' Bella insisted. 'That's where I'd want to go, too.'" Mike was immediately backpedaling. "I mean, I guess some of the costumes are cool. Slave Leia…" He should have kept his mouth shut. Jessica and Lauren exchanged a glance, frowning. "Please," Lauren thought, "we should totally go." Eric enthused at Bella, "I mean, after we save up enough…" Comic-Con with Bella—even better than Comic-Con alone. Bella was thrown for a second, but after a quick glance at Lauren's expression, she doubled down. "Yeah, I wish… It's probably way too expensive, though, right?" Eric started breaking down ticket prices and hotels versus sleeping in a car. Jessica and Lauren returned to their earlier conversation while Mike listened unhappily to Eric and Bella. "Do you think it's a two-day drive or three?" Eric was asking. "No idea," Bella said. "Well, how long a drive is it from here to Phoenix? You can do it in 2 days," she said with confidence, "if you're willing to drive 15 hours a day. San Diego should be a little closer than that, right?" I seem to be the only one who noticed the light bulb going on over Bella's head. "Oh yeah, San Diego definitely is closer… Still 2 days for sure, though." It was clear she hadn't even known the location of Comic-Con; she'd only chimed in to save Eric from teasing. It was revealing of her character. I was always compiling my list, but now I would never know where she would have chosen for herself. Mike was nearly as dissatisfied, but he seemed oblivious to her real motivations.

It was often like this with her—never stepping out of her quiet comfort zone except for someone else's perceived need; changing the subject whenever her circle of human friends grew too cruel to one another; thanking a teacher for their lesson if that teacher seemed down; giving up her locker for a more inconvenient location so two best friends could be neighbors; smiling a certain smile that never surfaced for her contented friends, only revealing itself to someone who was hurting—little things that none of her acquaintances or admirers ever seemed to see. Through all these little things, I was able to add the most important quality to my list, the most revealing of them all, as simple as it was rare: Bella was good. All the other things added up to that whole—kind and self-effacing and unselfish and brave. She was good through and through, and no one seemed aware of that besides me—though Mike was certainly observing her nearly as often. And right there was the most surprising of my torments: Mike Newton. Who would have ever dreamed that such a generic, boring mortal could be so infuriating? To be fair, I should have felt some gratitude to him—more than the others—he kept the girl talking. I learned so much about her through these conversations, but Mike's assistance with this project only aggravated me. I didn't want him to be the one who unlocked her secrets. It helped that he never noticed her small revelations, her little slips. He knew nothing about her; he'd created a Bella in his head who didn't exist—a girl just as generic as he was. He hadn't observed the unselfishness and bravery that set her apart from other humans; didn't hear the abnormal maturity of her spoken thoughts; didn't perceive that when she spoke of her mother, she sounded like a parent speaking of a child rather than the other way around—loving, indulgent, slightly amused, and fiercely protective; didn't hear the patience in her voice when she feigned interest in his rambling stories and didn't guess at the compassion behind that patience. These helpful discoveries did not warm me to the boy, however; the possessive way he viewed Bella, as if she were an acquisition to be made, provoked me almost as much as his crude fantasy about her. He was becoming more confident of her, too, as time passed, for she seemed to prefer him over those he considered his rivals—Tyler Crowley, Eric Yorkie, and even sporadically myself. He would routinely sit on her side of our table before biology began, chattering at her, encouraged by her smiles—just polite smiles, I told myself. All the same, I frequently amused myself by imagining backhanding him across the room and into the far wall—all it probably wouldn't injure him fatally.

Mike didn't often think of me as a rival. After the accident, he worried that Bella and I would bond from the shared experience, but obviously the opposite had resulted. Back then, he had still been bothered that I'd singled Bella out over her peers for attention, but now I ignored her just as thoroughly as the others, and he grew complacent. What was she thinking now? Did she welcome his attention? And finally, the last of my torments, the most painful: Bella's indifference. As I ignored her, she ignored me. She never tried to speak to me again; for all I knew, she never thought about me at all. This might have driven me mad, or worse, broken my resolution, except that she sometimes stared at me, as she had before. I didn't see it for myself, as I could not allow myself to look at her, but Alice always warned us; the others were still wary of the girl's problematic knowledge. It eased some of the pain that she gazed at me from a distance every now and then. Of course, she was probably just wondering exactly what kind of an aberration I was.

"Bella's going to stare at Edward in a minute—look normal," Alice said one Tuesday in March, and the others were careful to fidget and shift their weight. I paid attention to how often she looked in my direction. It pleased me, though it should not have, that frequency did not decline as time passed. I didn't know what it meant, but it made me feel better. Alice sighed, "I wish…"

"Stay out of it, Alice," I said under my breath. "It's not going to happen." She pouted. Alice was anxious to form her envisioned friendship with Bella; in a strange way, she missed the girl she didn't know. "I'll admit you're better than I thought—you've got the future all snarled up and senseless again. I hope you're happy."

"It makes plenty of sense to me," she snorted delicately. I tried to shut her out, too impatient for conversation. I wasn't in a very good mood—tenser than I let any of them see. Only Jasper was aware of how tightly wound I was feeling; the stress emanated out of me with his unique ability to both sense and influence the moods of others. He didn't understand the reasons behind the moods, though, and since I was constantly in a foul temper these days, he disregarded it. Today would be a hard one—harder than the day before, as was the pattern. Mike Newton was going to ask Bella on a date. The girl's choice dance was on the near horizon, and he'd been hoping very much that Bella would ask him. That she had not done so had rattled his confidence; now he was in an uncomfortable bind. I enjoyed his discomfort more than I should have, because Jessica Stanley had just invited him. He didn't want to say yes, still hopeful that Bella would choose him and prove him the victor over her other would-be suitors, but he didn't want to say no and end up missing the dance altogether. Jessica, hurt by his hesitation and guessing the reason behind it, was thinking daggers at Bella again. I had the instinct to place myself between her and Jessica's angry thoughts. I understood the instinct better now, but that only made it more frustrating when I could not act on it. To think it had come to this: I was utterly fixated on the petty high school dramas that I'd once held so in contempt.

Mike was working up his nerve as he walked Bella to biology. I listened to his struggles as I waited for them to arrive. The boy was weak; he had waited for this dance, purposely afraid to let his infatuation be known before she had shown a marked preference for him. He didn't want to make himself vulnerable to rejection, preferring that she take that leap first—coward. He sat down on our table again, comfortable through long familiarity, and I imagined the sound it would make if his body hit the opposite wall with enough force to break most of his bones.

"So," he said to the girl, his eyes on the floor, "Jessica asked me to the Spring Dance."

"That's great," Bella answered immediately and with enthusiasm. It was hard not to smile as Mike processed her tone; he'd been hoping for dismay. "You'll have… have a lot of fun with Jessica," he scrambled for the right response. "Well," he hesitated and almost turned tail, then he rallied, "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" she demanded. Her tone was disapproving, but there was the faintest hint of relief there as well. What did that mean? An unexpected, intense fury made my hands clench into fists. Mike did not hear the relief; his face flushed red, fierce as I suddenly felt. This seemed like an open invitation, and he looked at the floor again as he spoke. "I was wondering if… well, if you might be planning to ask me…"

Bella hesitated. In that moment, I saw the future more clearly than Alice ever had. The girl might say yes to Mike's unspoken question now, or she might not, but either way, someday soon she would say yes to someone. She was lovely and intriguing, and human males were not oblivious to this fact. Whether she would settle for someone in this lackluster crowd or wait until she was free from Forks, the day would come that she would say yes. I saw her life as I had before—college, career, love, marriage. I saw her on her father's arm again, dressed in gauzy white, her face flushed with happy happiness as she moved to the sound of Wagner's bridal chorus. The pain I felt while I imagined this future reminded me of the agony of transformation; it consumed me—and not just pain, but outright rage. The fury ached for some kind of physical outlet. Though this insignificant, undeserving boy might not be the one Bella would say yes to, I yearned to pulverize his skull with my fist, to let him stand as a proxy for whoever it would be. I didn't understand this emotion; it was such a tangle of pain and fury and desire and despair, I had never felt it before. I couldn't put a name to it.

"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," Bella said in a gentle voice. Mike's hopes plummeted. I would have enjoyed that under other circumstances, but… but I was lost in the aftershock and the remorse for what the pain and fury had done to me. Alice was right; I was not strong enough right now. She would be watching the future spin and twist, become mangled again. Would this please her?

"Did you already ask someone?" Mike asked sullenly. He glanced at me, suspicious for the first time in many weeks. I realized I had betrayed my interest; my head was inclined in Bella's direction. The wild envy in his thoughts—envy for whomever this girl preferred to him—suddenly put a name to my emotion. I was jealous.

"No," the girl said with a trace of humor in her voice. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

Through all the remorse and anger, I felt relief at her words. It was wrong, dangerous even, to consider Mike and the other mortals interested in Bella as rivals, but I had to concede that they had become just that.

"Why not?" Mike asked harshly. It offended me that he used this tone with her. I bit back a growl.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," she answered. The curiosity was not as vicious as it would have been before; now that I was fully intending to find out the answers to everything, I would know the reasons behind this new revelation soon enough. Mike's voice turned unpleasantly wheedling. "Can't you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no," Bella's voice was brusquer now. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer; it's rude." Her concern for Jessica's feelings fanned the flames of my jealousy. This Seattle trip was clearly an excuse to say no. Did she refuse purely out of loyalty to her friend? She was more than selfless enough for that. Did she actually wish she could say yes? Or were both guesses wrong? Was she interested in someone else?

"Yeah, you're right," Mike mumbled, so demoralized that I almost felt pity for him—almost. He dropped his eyes from the girl, cutting off my view of her face and his thoughts. I wasn't going to tolerate that. I turned to read her face myself, for the first time in more than a month. It was a sharp relief to allow myself this; I imagined it would feel the same to press ice to an aching burn—an abrupt sensation of pain. Her eyes were closed, and her hands pressed against the sides of her face; her shoulders curved inward defensively. She shook her head ever so slightly, as if she were trying to push some thought from her mind—frustrating, fascinating. Mr. Banner's voice pulled her from her revery, and her eyes slowly opened. She looked at me immediately, perhaps sensing my gaze; she stared up into my eyes with the same perplexed expression that had haunted me for so long. I didn't feel remorse.

Or guilt, or rage. In that second, I knew they would come again, and soon. But for this one moment, I rode a strange, jittery high, as if I had triumphed rather than lost. She didn't look away, though I stared with inappropriate intensity, trying vainly to read her thoughts through her liquid brown eyes. They were full of questions rather than answers. I could see the reflection of my own eyes, black with thirst. It had been nearly two weeks since my last hunting trip. This was not the safest day for my will to crumble, but the Blackness did not seem to frighten her. She still did not look away, and a soft, devastatingly appealing pink began to color her skin.

"What are you thinking now?" I almost asked the question aloud, but at that moment Mr. Banner called my name. I picked the correct answer out of his head and glanced briefly in his direction, sucking in a quick breath. The KB cycle thirst scorched my throat, tightening my muscles and filling my mouth with venom, and I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate through the desire for her blood that raged inside me. The monster was stronger than before, rejoicing. He embraced this duel future that gave him a 50/50 chance at what he craved so viciously. The third shaky future I tried to construct through willpower alone had collapsed, destroyed by common jealousy of all things, and he was so much closer to his goal. The remorse and guilt now burned with the thirst, and if I'd had the ability to produce tears, they would have filled my eyes now. What had I done? Knowing the battle was already lost, there seemed to be no reason to resist what I wanted.

I turned to stare at the girl again. She had hidden her face in her hair, but I could see that her cheek was deep crimson now. The monster liked that. She did not meet my gaze again but twisted a strand of her dark hair nervously between her fingers. Her delicate fingers, her fragile wrist—they were so breakable-looking, for all the world as though just my breath could snap them. No, no, no. I could not do this. She was too breakable, too good, too precious to deserve this. I couldn't allow my life to collide with hers, to destroy it, but I couldn't stay away from her either. Alice was right about that. The monster inside me hissed with annoyance as I struggled. My brief hour with her passed all too quickly while I vacillated between the rocks and the hard place. The bell rang, and she started collecting her things without looking at me. This disappointed me, but I could hardly expect otherwise. The way I had treated her since the accident was inexcusable.

"Bella," I said, unable to stop myself. My willpower lay in shreds. She hesitated before looking at me. When she turned, her expression was guarded, suspicious. I reminded myself that she had every right to distrust me, that she should. She waited for me to continue, but I just stared at her, reading her face. I pulled in shallow mouthfuls of air at regular intervals, fighting my thirst.

"What?" she finally said, a hard edge to her voice. "Are you speaking to me again?"

I wasn't sure how to answer her question. Was I speaking to her again in the sense that she meant? Not if I could help it. I would try to help it. No, not really.

"I told her," she closed her eyes, which only made things more difficult. It cut off my best avenue of access to her feelings. She took a long, slow breath without opening her eyes and spoke. "Then what do you want, Edward?" Surely this was not a normal human way to converse. Why did she do it? But how to answer her with the truth? I decided I would be as truthful as I could with her from now on. I didn't want to deserve her distrust, even if earning her trust was impossible.

"I'm sorry," I told her. That was truer than she would ever know. Unfortunately, I could only safely apologize for the trivial. "I'm being very rude, I know, but it's better this way, really."

Her eyes opened; their expression still wary. "I don't know what you mean." I tried to get as much of a warning through to her as was allowed. "It's better if we're not friends." Surely she could sense that much. She was a bright girl. "Trust me."

Her eyes tightened, and I remembered that I had said those words to her before, just before breaking a promise. I winced when her teeth clenched together with a sharp click. She clearly remembered too.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," she said angrily. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

I stared at her in shock. What did she know of my regrets? Regret? Regret for what?

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me," she snapped. I froze, stunned. How could she be thinking that saving her life was the one acceptable thing I'd done since I'd met her, the only thing I was not ashamed of, that made me glad I existed at all? I'd been fighting to keep her alive since the first moment I caught her scent. How could she doubt my one good deed in all this mess?

"You think I regret saving your life?"

"I know you do," she retorted. Her estimation of my intentions left me seething. "You don't know anything." How confusing and incomprehensible the workings of her mind were. She must not think in the same way as other humans at all. That must be the explanation behind her mental silence. She was entirely other. She jerked her face away, gritting her teeth again. Her cheeks were flushed with anger this time. Slamming her books together in a pile, she yanked them up into her arms and marched toward the door without meeting my stare.

Even as vexed as I felt, something about her anger softened my annoyance. I wasn't sure exactly what it was that made her exasperation somehow endearing. She walked stiffly, without looking where she was going, and her foot caught on the lip of the doorway. Her things all crashed to the ground. Instead of bending to get them, she stood rigidly straight, not even looking down, as if she was not sure the books were worth retrieving. No one was here to watch me. I flitted to her side and had her books in order before she had even examined the mess. She bent halfway, saw me, and then froze. I handed her books back to her, making sure my icy skin never touched hers.

"Thank you," she said in a sharp voice.

"You're welcome." My voice was still rough with my former irritation, but before I could clear my throat and try again, she wrenched herself upright and stomped away toward her next class. I watched until I could no longer see her angry figure.

Spanish passed in a blur. Mrs. Goff never questioned my abstraction. She knew my Spanish was superior to hers and gave me a great deal of latitude, leaving me free to think. So I couldn't ignore the girl; that much was obvious. But did it mean I had no choice but to destroy her? That could not be the only available future. There had to be some other choice, some delicate balance. I tried to think of a way.

I didn't pay much attention to Emmett until the hour was nearly up. He was curious. Emmett was not overly intuitive about the shades and others' moods, but he could see the obvious change in me. He wondered what had happened to remove the unrelenting glow from my face. He struggled to define the change and finally decided that I looked hopeful. Hopeful? Was that how I seemed from the outside? I pondered the idea as we walked to the Volvo, wondering what exactly I should be hoping for. But I didn't have long to ponder. Sensitive as I always was to thoughts about the girl, the sound of Bella's name in the heads of those humans I really should not think of as rivals caught my attention. Eric and Tyler, having heard with much satisfaction of Mike's failure, were preparing to make their moves. Eric was already in place, positioned against her truck where she could not avoid him. Tyler's class was being held late to receive an assignment, and he was in a desperate hurry to catch her before she escaped. This I had to see.

"Wait for the others here, all right," I murmured to Emmett. He eyed me suspiciously, but then shrugged and nodded. "Kid's lost his damn mind," he thought, amused.

Bella was on her way out of the gym, and I waited where she would not see me. As she got closer to Eric's ambush, I strode forward, setting my pace so that I would walk by at the right moment. I watched her body stiffen when she caught sight of the boy waiting for her. She froze for a moment, then relaxed and moved forward.

"Hey, Eric," I heard her call in a friendly voice. I was abruptly and unexpectedly anxious. What if this gangly teen with his unhealthy skin was somehow pleasing to her? Perhaps her earlier kindness to him had not been entirely selfless. Eric swallowed loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Hi, Bella," she seemed unconscious of his nervousness. "What's up?" she asked, unlocking her truck without looking at his frightened expression.

"Uh, I, I was just wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me." His voice broke.

She finally looked up. Was she taken aback, or pleased? Eric couldn't meet her gaze, so I couldn't see her face in his mind. "I thought it was…was girls' choice," she said, sounding flustered.

"Well, yeah," he agreed wretchedly. This pitiable boy did not irritate me as much as Mike Newton did, but I couldn't find it in myself to feel sympathy for his angst until after Bella had answered him in a gentle voice. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day." He'd already heard this; still, it was a disappointment.

"Oh," he mumbled, barely daring to raise his eyes to the level of her nose. "Well, maybe next time."

"Sure," she agreed. Then she bit down on her lip as if she regretted leaving him a loophole. That pleased me. Eric slumped forward and walked away, headed in the wrong direction from his car. His only thought: escape.

I passed her in that moment and heard her sigh of relief. I laughed before I could catch myself. She whirled at the sound, and I stared straight ahead, trying to keep my lips from twitching in amusement. Tyler was behind me, almost running in his hurry to catch her before she could drive away. He was bolder and more confident than the other two. He'd only waited to approach Bella this long because he'd respected Mike's prior claim. I wanted him to succeed in catching her for two reasons. If, as I was beginning to suspect, all this attention was annoying to Bella, I wanted to enjoy watching her reaction. But if it was not, if Tyler's invitation was the one she'd been hoping for, that I wanted to know that too.

I measured Tyler Crowley as competition, knowing it was reprehensible to do so. He seemed tediously average and unremarkable to me, but what did I know of Bella's preferences? Maybe she liked average boys. I winced at that thought. I could never be an average boy. How foolish it was to set myself up as a candidate for her affections. How could she ever care for someone who was, by default, the villain of the story? She was too good for a villain. Though I ought to have let her escape, my inexcusable curiosity kept me from doing what was right again. But what if Tyler missed his chance now, only to contact her later when I would have no way of knowing the outcome?

I pulled my Volvo out into the narrow lane, blocking her exit. Emmett and the others were on their way, but he described my strange behavior to them, and they were walking slowly, slowly staring at me, trying to decipher what I was doing. I watched the girl in my rearview mirror. She glowered toward the back of my car without meeting my gaze, looking as if she wished she were driving a tank rather than a rusted Chevy. Tyler hurried to his car and got in line behind her, grateful for my inexplicable conduct. He waved at her, trying to catch her attention, but she didn't notice. He waited a moment and then left his car, forcing his gait into a saunter as he sidled up to her passenger-side window. He tapped on the glass. She jumped and then stared at him in confusion. After a second, she rolled the window down manually, seeming to have some trouble with it.

"I'm sorry, Tyler," she said, her voice irritated. "I'm stuck behind Cullen." She said my surname in a hard voice.

"Oh, I know," Tyler said, undeterred by her mood. "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." His grin was cocky. I was gratified by the way she blanched at his obvious intent. "Will you ask me to go to the Spring Dance?" he said, no thought of defeat in his mind.

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler," she told him, irritation still plain in her voice.

"Yeah, Mike said that. Then why—" she started to ask.

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Her eyes flashed, then cooled. "Sorry, Tyler," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "I really am going out of town." Given her usual practice of putting the needs of others above her own, I was a little surprised at her steely resolve when it came to the dance. Where did it spring from?

Tyler accepted her excuse, his self-assurance untouched. "That's cool. We still have prom." He strutted back to his car. I was right to have waited for this. The horrified expression on her face was priceless. It told me what I should not so desperately have needed to know: that she had no, no feelings for any of these human males who wished to court her. Also, her expression was possibly the funniest thing I'd ever seen.

My family arrived then, confused that I was, for a change, rocking with laughter rather than scowling murderously at everything in sight.

"What's so funny?" Emmett wanted to know.

I just shook my head as Bella revved her noisy engine angrily. She looked like she was wishing for a tank again.

"Let's go," Rosalie hissed impatiently. "Stop being an idiot, if you can."

Her words didn't annoy me; I was too entertained. But I did as she asked. No one spoke to me on the way home. I continued to chuckle every now and again, thinking of Bella's face as I turned onto the drive, speeding up now that there were no witnesses.

"Alice," she ruined my mood. "So do I get to talk to Bella now?" she asked suddenly.

"No," I snapped.

"Not fair. What am I waiting for?" I haven't decided anything.

"Alice, what—Edward," in her head. Bella's two destinies were clear again.

"What's the point in getting to know her?" I mumbled, suddenly morose. "If I'm just going to kill her."

Alice hesitated for a second. "You have a point," she admitted.

I took the final hairpin turn at ninety mph and then screeched to a stop an inch from the rear garage wall.

"Enjoy your run, Rosalie," she said smugly as I threw myself out of the car. But I didn't go running today. Instead, I went hunting. The others were scheduled to hunt tomorrow, but I couldn't afford to be thirsty now. I overdid it, drinking more than necessary, glutting myself again—a small grouping of elk and one black bear. I was lucky to stumble across this early in the year. I was so full it was uncomfortable. Why couldn't that be enough? Why did her scent have to be so much stronger than anything else? And not just her scent—whatever it was about her that marked her for disaster. She'd been in Forks for mere weeks, and already she'd twice come within inches of a violent death. For all I knew, right at this very moment, she could have wandered into the path of another death sentence. What would it be this time? A meteorite smashing through her roof and crushing her in her bed?

I could hunt no more, and the sun was still hours and hours from rising. Now that it had occurred to me, the idea of the meteorite and and all its possible allies was hard to dismiss. I tried to be rational, to consider the odds against all the disasters I could imagine, but that didn't help. What were the odds, after all, that the girl would come to live in a town with a decent percentage of vampires as permanent residents? What were the odds that she would appeal to one so perfectly? What if something happened to her in the night? What if I went to school tomorrow? Every sense and feeling focused onto the space where she should be, and her seat was empty. Abruptly, the risk felt unacceptable. The only way I could be positive she was safe was if there was someone in place to catch the meteorite before it could touch her.

The jittery high swept through me again when I realized that I was going to go find the girl. It was past midnight, and Bella's house was dark and quiet. Her truck was parked against the curb; her father's police cruiser in the driveway. There were no conscious thoughts anywhere in the neighborhood. I watched the house from the blackness of the forest that bordered it on the east. There was no evidence of any kind of danger aside from myself. I listened and picked out the sound of two people breathing inside the house—two even heartbeats. So all must be well. I leaned against the trunk of a young hemlock and settled in to wait for stray meteorites.

The problem with waiting was that it freed up the mind for all kinds of speculation. Obviously, the meteorite was just a metaphor for all the unlikely things that could go wrong, but not every danger would streak across the sky with a brilliant splash of fire. I could think of many that would give no warning—hazards that could slink into the dark house silently, that might already be there. These were ridiculous worries. The street didn't didn't have a natural gas line, so a carbon monoxide leak was improbable. I doubted they used coal frequently. The Olympic Peninsula had very little in the way of dangerous wildlife, anything large I would be able to hear. Now there were no venomous snakes, scorpions, or centipedes, and just a few spiders, none of them deadly to a healthy adult and unlikely to be found indoors regardless. Ridiculous. I knew that. I knew I was being irrational, but I felt anxious, unsettled. I couldn't push the dark imaginings from my mind. If I could just see her…

I would take a closer look. In only half a second, I had crossed the yard and scaled the side of the house. This upstairs window would be a bedroom, probably the master. Maybe I should have started in the back, less conspicuous that way. Dangling from the eve above the window by one hand, I looked through the glass, and my breath stopped. It was her room. I could see her in the one small bed, her covers on the floor and her sheets twisted around her legs. She was perfectly fine, of course, as the rational part of me had already known—safe, but not at ease. As I watched, she twitched restlessly and threw one arm over her head. She did not sleep soundly, at least not this night. Did she sense the danger near her?

I was repulsed by myself as I watched her toss again. How was I any better than some sick peeping Tom? I wasn't any better; I was much, much worse. I relaxed my fingertips, about to let myself drop, but first I allowed myself one long look at her face, still not peaceful. The little furrow was there between her eyebrows; the corners of her mouth turned down; her lips trembled and then parted.

"Okay, Mom," she muttered. Bella talked in her sleep. Curiosity flared, overpowering self-disgust. So long I tried to hear her and failed. The lure of those unprotected, unconsciously spoken thoughts was impossibly tempting. What were human rules to me, after all? How many did I ignore on a daily basis? I thought of the multitude of illegal documents my family needed to live as we liked—false names and false histories, driver's licenses that let us enroll in school, and medical credentials that allowed Carlisle to work as a doctor; papers that made our strange grouping of nearly identically aged adults comprehensible as a family. None of it would be necessary if we didn't try to have brief periods of permanence, if we didn't prefer to have a home.

Home. Then, of course, there was the way we funded our lives. Insider trading laws didn't apply to psychics, but it certainly wasn't honest what we did, and the transfer of inheritances from one fabricated name to another wasn't legal either. And then there were all the murders. We didn't take them lightly, but obviously none of us had ever been punished by human courts for our crimes. We covered them up—also a crime. Then why should I feel guilty over one little misdemeanor? Human laws had never applied to me, and this was hardly my first adventure with breaking and entering. I knew I could do this safely. The monster was restless but well-feted. I would keep a careful distance. I would not harm her. She would never know I'd been here. I only wanted to be certain that she was safe. It was all rationalization—evil arguments from the devil on my left shoulder. I knew that, but I had no angel on the right. I would behave as the nightmarish creature that I was.

I tried the window, and it was not locked, though it stuck due to long disuse. I took a deep breath, my last for however long I was near her, and slid the glass slowly aside, cringing at each faint groan of the metal frame. Finally, it was open wide enough for me to ease through.

"Mom, wait," she muttered. "Scott Tail Road is faster."

Her room was small, disorganized, and cluttered, but not unclean. There were books piled on the floor beside her bed, their spines facing away from me, and CDs scattered by her inexpensive CD player. The one on top was just a clear jewel case. Stacks of papers surrounded a computer that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to obsolete technologies. Shoes dotted the wooden floor. I wanted very much to go read the titles of her books and CDs, but I was determined to take no more risks. Instead, I went to sit in an old rocking chair in the far corner of the room. My anxiety eased; the dark thoughts receded, and my mind was clear. Had I really once believed her average-looking? I thought of that first day and my disgust for the human boys who were so fascinated by her, but when I remembered her face in their minds, then I could not understand why I had not immediately found her beautiful. It seemed an obvious thing right now, with her dark hair tangled and wild around her pale face, wearing a threadbare t-shirt full of holes, with tatty sweatpants, her features relaxed in unconsciousness, her full lips slightly parted. She took my breath away—or would have, I thought wryly, if I were breathing. She did not speak; perhaps her dream had ended.

I stared at her face and tried to think of some way to make the future bearable. Hurting her was not bearable. Did that mean my only choice was to try to leave again? The others could not argue with me now; my absence would not put anyone in danger; there would be no suspicion, nothing to link anyone's thoughts back to the accident. I wavered as I had this afternoon, and nothing seemed possible.

A small brown spider crawled out from the edge of the closet door; my arrival must have disturbed it. A *Tegenaria agrestis*, a hobo spider—from its size, a juvenile male. Once considered dangerous, more recent scientific study had proven its venom inconsequential to humans; however, its bite was still painful. I reached out with one finger and crushed it silently. Perhaps I should have let the creature be, but the thought of anything hurting her was intolerable. And then suddenly all my thoughts were intolerable too, because I could kill every spider in her home, cut the thorns off every rose bush she might one day touch, block every speeding car that got within a mile of her, but there was no task I could perform that would make me something other than what I was. I stared at my white, stone-like hand, so grotesquely inhuman, and despaired. I could not hope to compete against the human boys; whether these specific boys appealed to her or not, I was the villain, the nightmare. How could she see me as anything else? If she knew the truth about me, it would frighten and repulse her, like the intended victim in a horror film. She would run away, shrieking in terror. I remembered her first day in biology and knew that this was exactly the right reaction for her to have. It was foolishness to imagine that if I had been the one to ask her to the silly dance, she would have canceled her hastily made plans and agreed to go with me. I was not the one she was destined to say yes to. It was someone else—someone human and warm—and I could not even let myself, someday, when that yes was said, hunt him down and kill him, because she deserved him, whoever he was. She deserved…

Happiness and love with whomever she chose. I owed it to her to do the right thing. Now I could no longer pretend that I was only in danger of loving this girl. After all, it really didn't matter if I left because Bella could never see me the way I wished—she would never see me as someone worthy of Love. Could a dead, frozen heart break? It felt as though mine would.

"Edward," Bella said. I froze, staring at her unopened eyes. Had she awakened, caught me here? She looked asleep, yet her voice had been so clear. She sighed, a quiet sigh, and then moved restlessly again, rolling to her side. Still fast asleep and dreaming. "Edward," she mumbled softly. She was dreaming of me. Could a dead, frozen heart beat again? It felt as though mine was about to. "Stay," she said. "Don't go, please don't go." She was dreaming of me, and it wasn't even a nightmare. She wanted me to stay with her, there in her dream.

I struggled to find words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no word strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them. When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been. My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight? At the time I became a vampire, trading my soul and mortality for immortality and the searing pain of transformation, I had truly been frozen. My body had turned into something more like stone than flesh, enduring and unchanging. Myself, also, had frozen, as it were. My personality, my likes and dislikes, my moods and desires were all fixed in place. It was the same for the rest of them; we were all frozen, living stone. When change came for one of us, it was a rare and permanent thing. I had seen it happen with Carlisle, and then a decade later with Rosalie. Love had changed them in an eternal way, a way that would never fade. More than eighty years had passed since Carlisle found Esme, and yet he still looked at her with the incredulous eyes of first love. It would always be so for them. It would always be so for me, too. I would always love this fragile human girl for the rest of my limitless existence.

I gazed at her unconscious face, feeling that love for her settle into every portion of my stone body. She slept more peacefully now, a slight smile on her lips. I began to plot. I loved her, and so I would try to be strong enough to leave her. I knew I wasn't that strong now; I would work on that one. But perhaps I was strong enough to circumvent the future in another way. Alice had only seen two futures for Bella, and now I understood them both. Loving her would not keep me from killing her if I let myself make mistakes. Yet I could not feel the monster now, could not find him anywhere in me. Perhaps Love had silenced him forever. If I killed her now, it would not be intentional, only a horrible accident. I would have to be inordinately careful. I would never, ever be able to let my guard down. I would have to control my every breath. I would have to keep an always cautious distance. I would not make mistakes.

I finally understood that second future. I'd been baffled by that vision. What could possibly happen to result in Bella becoming a prisoner to this immortal half-life, now devastated by longing for the girl? I could understand how I might, in unforgivable selfishness, ask my father for that favor—ask him to take away her life and her soul so that I could keep her forever. She deserved better. But… but I saw one more future, one thin wire that I might be able to walk if I could keep my balance. Could I do it—be with her and leave her human deliberately?

I locked my body into perfect stillness, froze it in place, then took a deep breath, another, then another, letting her scent rip through me like wildfire. The room was thick with her perfume; her fragrance was layered on every surface. My head swam from the pain, but I fought the spinning. I would have to get used to this if I were going to attempt any kind of regular proximity to her. Another deep, burning breath. I watched her sleeping until the sun rose behind the eastern clouds, plotting and breathing.

I got home just after the others had left for school. I changed quickly, avoiding Esme’s questioning eyes. She saw the feverish light in my face and felt both worry and relief. My long melancholia had pained her greatly, and she was glad that it seemed to be over. I ran to school, arriving a few seconds after my siblings did. They did not turn, though Alice, at least, must have known that I stood here in the thick woods that bordered the pavement. I waited until no one was looking and then strolled casually from between the trees into the lot full of parked cars. I heard Bella’s truck rumbling around the corner, and I paused behind a Suburban where I could watch without being seen. She drove into the lot, glaring at my Volvo for a long moment before she parked in one of the most distant spaces, a frown on her face. It was strange to remember that she was probably still angry with me, and with good reason. I wanted to laugh at myself, or kick myself. All my plotting and planning was entirely moot if she didn’t care for me, too, wasn’t it? Her dream could have been about something completely random. I was such an arrogant fool. Well, it was so much the better for her if she didn’t care for me. That wouldn’t stop me from pursuing her, from trying, but I would listen for her. No, I owed her that. I owed her more. I owed her the truth I was not allowed to give her, so I would give her as much truth as I could. I would try to warn her, and when she confirmed that I would never be the one she would say yes to, I would leave.

I walked silently forward, wondering how best to approach her. She made it easy. Her truck key slipped through her fingers as she got out of the cab and fell into a deep puddle. She reached down, but I got to it first, retrieving it before she had to put her fingers in the cold water. I leaned back against her truck as she started and then straightened up. “How do you do that?” she demanded. Yes, she was still angry—angry. I offered her the key. “Do what?” She held her hand out, and I dropped it into her palm. I took a deep breath, pulling in her scent. “Appear out of thin air?” she clarified. “Bella,” it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” The words were wry, almost a joke. Was there anything she didn’t see? Did she hear how my voice wrapped around her name like a caress? She glared at me, not appreciating my humor. Her heartbeat sped—from anger, from fear. After a moment, she looked down. “Why the traffic jam last night?” she asked without meeting my eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.” Still very angry. It was going to take some effort to make things right with her. I remembered my resolve to be truthful—that was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance. And then I laughed. I couldn’t help it, thinking of her expression yesterday. Concentrating so hard on keeping her safe, on controlling my physical response to her, left me fewer resources to manage my emotions.

“You,” she gasped and then broke off, appearing to be too furious to finish. There it was, that same expression. I choked back another laugh. She was mad enough already. “And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” I finished. It felt right to make my tone casual, teasing. I didn’t want to frighten her more. I had to hide the depth of my feelings, keep things light. “So you are trying to irritate me to death since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?” A quick flash of anger pulsed through me. How could she honestly believe that it was irrational for me to be so affronted? She didn’t know all the effort I’d expended to keep her alive. She didn’t know that I’d fought with my family for her. She didn’t know of the transformation that happened in the night. But I was angry all the same—emotion unmanaged. “Bella, you are utterly absurd,” I snapped. Her face flushed, and she turned her back on me. She began to walk away. Remorse. My anger was unfair. “Wait,” I pleaded. She did not stop, so I followed her. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m not saying it isn’t true—it was absurd to imagine that I wanted her harmed in any way—but it was rude to say it anyway.” “Why won’t you leave me alone?” Was this my know? Was that what she wanted? Was my name in her dream truly meaningless? I remembered perfectly the tone of her voice, the expression on her face as she asked me to stay. But if she now said no, well then that would be that. I knew what I would have to do. Keep it light, I reminded myself. This could be the last time I would see her. If that was the case, I needed to leave her with the right memory. So I would play the normal human boy. Most importantly, I would give her a choice, and then accept her answer.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” a course of action that just occurred to me, and I laughed. “Do you have a multiple personality disorder?” she asked. “It must seem that way.” My mood was wildly erratic, so many new emotions coursing through me. “You’re doing it again,” I pointed out. She sighed. “Fine, then what do you want to ask?” “I was wondering if, a week from Saturday…” I watched the shock cross her face and fought back another laugh. “You know, the day of the Spring Dance?” she cut me off, finally returning her eyes to mine. “Are you trying to be funny? Will you please allow me to finish?” She waited in silence, her teeth pressing into her soft lower lip. That sight distracted me for a second; strange, unfamiliar reactions stirred deep in my forgotten human core. I tried to shake them off so I could play my role. “I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride,” I offered. I’d realize that better than just learning about her plans; I might… might share them if she said yes. She stared at me blankly. What? Do you want a ride to Seattle, alone in a car with her? My throat burned at the thought. I took a deep breath. “Get used to it.” “With who?” she asked, confused. “Myself, obviously,” I said slowly. Why was it really such a shock that I would want her company? She must have applied the worst possible meaning to my past behavior. “Well,” I said as casually as possible, “I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it.” It felt safer to tease her than to allow myself to be too serious. “My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern,” she said in the same surprised voice. She started walking again. I kept pace with her. Not an explicit rejection, but close. Was she being polite? “But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?” “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she grumbled. Her heart was beating faster again, her breath coming more quickly. I thought the teasing should put her at ease, but maybe I was frightening her again. “The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.” My response sounded normal and casual to me, but I couldn’t tell if she heard it the same way. Her silent mind left me always foundering. “Honestly, Edward, I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.” A thrill shot through me when she spoke my name, and I was back in her room, hearing her call out to me, wanting me to stay. I wish I could live in that moment forever, but on this point only honesty was acceptable. “I said it would be better if we weren’t friends—not that I didn’t want to be.” “Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up,” she said sarcastically. She paused under the edge of the cafeteria roof and met my gaze again. Her heartbeat stuttered—fear or anger? I chose my words carefully. She needed to see, to understand that it was in her best interest to tell me to go. “It would be more prudent for you not to be my friend,” I said, sinking into the melted chocolate depths of her eyes. I entirely lost my hold on light. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella.” The words felt like they’d burned their way out of my mouth. Her breathing stopped, and in the second it took for it to restart, I panicked. I truly terrified her, hadn’t I? All the better. I would collect my know and attempt to bear it. “Will you go to Seattle with me?” I demanded point-blank. She nodded, her heart drumming loudly. “Yes,” she said. Yes to me. And then my conscience smote me. What would this cost her? “You really should stay away from me,” I warned her. Did she hear me? Would she escape the future I was threatening her with? Couldn’t I do anything to save her from me? Keep it light, I shouted at myself. “I’ll see you in class,” and instantly remembered that I would not see her in class. She scattered my thoughts so thoroughly I had to concentrate to stop myself from running as I fled.

Chapter 6: Blood Type

I followed her all day, through other people’s eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings—not Mike Newton’s eyes, because I couldn’t understand anymore of his offensive fantasies, and not Jessica Stanley’s, because her resentment toward Bella was irritating. Angela Weber was a good choice when her eyes were available; she was kind, her head was an easy place to be, and then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view. I was surprised, watching Bella stumble through the day, tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and most often her own feet, that the people I eavesdropped on thought of her as clumsy. I considered that it was true; she often had trouble staying upright. I remembered her stumbling into the desk that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, staggering against the low lip of the door frame yesterday. How odd they were, right? She was clumsy. I didn’t know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English, and several people shot me wary glances, then looked away quickly from my exposed teeth. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about her in stillness, the way she held her head, the arch of her neck. There was nothing graceful about her now. Mr. Varner watched as she caught the toe of her boot on the carpet and literally fell into her chair. I laughed again. Time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see her with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was one of the first in the room. I chose a table that was usually empty and was sure to remain that way with me seated here. When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Alice must have warned them. Rosalie stalked past me without a glance. Idiot. Rosalie and I had never had an easy relationship. I’d defended her the very first time she’d heard me speak, and it was downhill from that point on. But it seemed as though she was even more ill-tempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Rosalie made everything about herself. Jasper gave me half a smile as he walked by. “Good luck,” he thought doubtfully. Emmett rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Lost his mind, poor kid.” Alice was beaming, her teeth shining too brightly. “Can I talk to Bella now?” “Keep out of it,” I said under my breath. Her face fell and then brightened again. “Fine, be stubborn; it’s only a matter of time.” I sighed again. “Don’t forget about today’s biology lab,” she reminded me. I nodded. It irked me that Mr. Banner had made these plans. I’d wasted so many hours in biology sitting next to her while pretending to ignore her. It was painfully ironic to me that I would miss that hour with her today while I waited for Bella to arrive.

I followed her in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jessica on his way to the cafeteria. Jessica was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Bella said nothing in response—not that Jessica gave her much of a chance. The moment Bella walked through the door, her eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. She stared for a moment, and then her forehead crumpled and her eyes dropped to the floor. She hadn’t noticed me here. She looked so sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to her side, to comfort her somehow, only I didn’t know what she would find comforting. Jessica continued to jabber about the dance. Was Bella upset that she was going to miss it? That didn’t seem likely, but if that were true, I wished I could offer her that option—impossible. The physical proximity required by a dance would be too dangerous. She bought a drink for her lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn’t she need more nutrition? I’d never paid much attention to a human’s diet before. Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile; there were a million different things to worry about. “Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” I heard Jessica say. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.” I was grateful to Jessica, though she was even more resentful now, because Bella’s head snapped up and her eyes searched until they met mine. There was no trace of sadness in her face now. I let myself hope that she’d felt unhappy because she thought I’d left school early, and that hope made me smile. I motioned with my finger for her to join me. She looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease her again, so I winked, and her mouth fell open. “Does he mean you?” Jessica asked rudely. “Maybe he needs help with his biology homework,” she said in a low, uncertain voice. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.” This was almost another yes. She stumbled twice on her way to my table, though there was nothing in her way but perfectly even lolium. Seriously, how had I missed this? I’d been paying more attention to her silent thoughts, I supposed. What else had I not seen? She was almost to my new table. I tried to prepare myself. Keep it honest, keep it light, I chanted silently. She stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply through my nose this time, rather than my mouth—feel the burn. I thought, dryly, “Won’t you sit with me today?” I asked her. She pulled the chair out and sat, staring at me the whole while. She seemed nervous. I waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but finally she said, “This is different.” “Well,” I hesitated. I decided, as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly. What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least, and perhaps she’d hear the unsettling warning my words implied. Maybe she would realize that she should get up and walk away as quickly as possible. She didn’t get up. She stared at me, waiting, as if I’d left my sentence unfinished. “You know, I don’t have any idea what you mean,” she said when I didn’t continue. That was a relief. I smiled. “I know.” It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind her back, and I wanted to change the subject anyway. “I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you.” This did not appear to concern her. “They’ll survive. I may not give you back though.” I didn’t even know if I was trying to tease her again or just being honest now. Being near her jumbled all my thoughts. Bella swallowed loudly. I laughed at her expression. “You look worried.” “It really shouldn’t be funny,” she said. She should worry. No, I knew this must be a lie. Her voice broke, betraying her fraud. Surprised, actually. “What brought all this on?” “I told you,” I reminded her. “I got tired of trying to stay away from you, so I’m giving up.” I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn’t working at all—trying to be honest and casual at the same time. “Giving up?” she repeated, baffled. “Yes. Giving up trying to be good, and apparently giving up trying to be casual. I’m just going to do what I want now and let the chips fall where they may.” That was honest enough. Let her see my selfishness; let that warn her, too. “You lost me again.” I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. “I always say too much when I’m talking to you. That’s one of the problems.” A rather insignificant problem compared to the rest. “Don’t worry,” she reassured me. “I don’t understand any of it.” Good. Then she’d stay. “I’m counting on that. So, in plain English, are we friends now?” I pondered that for a second. “Friends?” I repeated. I didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t enough, or… not. “She mumbled, looking embarrassed. Did she think I didn’t like her that much? I smiled. “Well, we can try, I suppose. But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.” I waited for her response, torn in two—wishing she would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if she did. How melodramatic. Her heart beat faster. “You say that a lot.” “Yes, because you’re not listening to me,” I said, too intense again. “I’m still waiting for you to believe it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.” I could only guess at the pain I would feel when she understood enough to make the right choice. Her eyes tightened. “I think you’ve made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.” I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but I smiled an apology, guessing that I must have accidentally offended her. So she said slowly, “As long as I’m being not smart, we’ll try to be friends.” That sounds about right. She looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in her hands. The old curiosity tormented me. “What are you thinking?” I asked. It was an immense relief to say the words out loud at last. I couldn’t remember how it felt to need oxygen in my lungs, but I wondered if the relief of inhaling had been a little like this. She met my gaze, and her breathing sped while her cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air. “I’m trying to figure out what you are.” I held the smile on my face, locking my features while panic twisted through my body. Of course, she was wondering that; she had a bright mind. I couldn’t hope for her to be oblivious to something so obvious. “Are you having any luck with that?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage. “Not too much,” she admitted. I chuckled with sudden relief. “What are your theories?” They couldn’t be worse than the truth, no matter what she’d come up with. Her cheeks turned brighter red, and she said nothing. I could feel the warmth of her blush. I would try my persuasive tone; it worked well on normal humans. I smiled encouragingly. “Won’t you tell me?” She shook her head. “Too embarrassing.” “Uh, not knowing was worse than anything else.” Why would her speculations embarrass her? “That’s really frustrating, you know.” My complaint sparked something in her; her eyes flashed and her words flowed more swiftly than usual. “No, I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all. Just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean. Now, why would that be frustrating?” I frowned at her, upset to realize that she was right. I wasn’t being fair. She couldn’t know the loyalties and limitations that tied my tongue, but that didn’t change the disparity as she saw it. She went on, “Or, better say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next—and he never explained any of that either, even after he promised. That also would be very non-frustrating.” It was the longest speech I’d ever heard her make, and it gave me a new quality to my list. “You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” “I don’t like double standards.” She was completely justified in her irritation, of course. I stared at Bella, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by her, until the silent shouting in Mike Newton’s head distracted me. He was so irate, so immaturely vulgar that it…

Made me chuckle again. What she demanded: "Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you. He's debating whether or not to come break up our fight."

I would love to see him try. I laughed again.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she said in an icy voice, "but I'm sure you're wrong anyway."

I very much enjoyed the way she disowned him with one and different sentence.

"I'm not," I told you. "Most people are easy to read, except me, of course."

"Yes, except for you." Did she have to be the exception to everything? I wonder why that is. I stared into her eyes, trying again. She looked away, then opened her lemonade and took a quick drink, her eyes on the table.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked.

"No," she eyed the empty space between us.

"You?"

"No, I'm not hungry," I said. I was definitely not. That she stared down, her lips pursed. I waited.

"Can you do me a favor?" she asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again.

What would she want from me? Would she ask for the truth, that I wasn't allowed to tell her, the truth I didn't want her to ever, ever know?

"That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," she promised. I waited, curiosity flaring excruciatingly, as usual.

"I just wondered," she said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with her littlest finger, "if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good, just so I'm prepared."

She wanted a warning, then. Being ignored by me must be a bad thing. I smiled.

"That sounds fair," I agreed.

"Thanks," she said, looking up. Her face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.

"Then can I have one in return?" I asked hopefully.

"One," she allowed. "Tell me one theory."

She flushed. "Not that one. You didn't qualify; you just promised one answer," I argued.

"And you've broken promises yourself," she argued back. She had me there.

"Just one theory," I pleaded. "I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will," she seemed very sure of that, though I couldn't imagine anything that would be funny about it. I gave persuasion another try. I stared deep into her eyes—an easy thing to do with eyes so deep—and whispered, "Please."

She blinked, and her face went totally blank. Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.

"Uh, what?" she asked a second later. She looked disoriented. Was something wrong with her? I tried again.

"Please tell me just one little theory," I pleaded in my soft, non-scary voice, holding her gaze in mine. To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked.

"Um, well… bitten by a radioactive spider," comic books. No wonder she thought I would laugh.

"That's not very creative," I chided her, trying to hide my fresh relief.

"I'm sorry; that's all I've got," she said, offended. This relieved me even more. I was able to tease her again.

"You're not even close. No spiders, nope, and no radioactivity. None," I said.

"Dang," she sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me either," I said quickly before she could ask about bites. And then I had to chuckle because she thought I was a superhero.

"You're not supposed to laugh," I pressed my lips together.

"I'll figure it out eventually," she promised. And when she did, she would run.

"I wish you wouldn't try," I said, all teasing gone, because I owed her honesty still. I tried to smile to make my words sound less threatening.

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" Her eyes widened by a fraction, and her lips fell slightly apart.

"Oh," she said, and then, after another second, "I see." She'd finally hurt me.

"Do you?" I asked, working to conceal my agony.

"You… you're dangerous," she guessed. Her breathing hiked, and her heart raced. I couldn't answer her. Was this my last moment with her? Would she run now? Could I be allowed to tell her that I loved her before she left, or would that frighten her more?

"But not bad," she whispered, shaking her head, no fear evident in her clear eyes. "No, I don't believe that you're bad. You're wrong."

I breathed. Of course, I was bad, wasn't I? Rejoicing now, finding she thought better of me than I deserved. If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from her. I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to her lemonade bottle as an excuse. She did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. She really was not afraid of me, not yet. I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of her. My thoughts were in a snarl: Run, Bella, run. I couldn't make myself say the words out loud. She jumped to her feet just as I started to worry that she'd somehow heard my silent warning.

"We're going to be late," she said.

"I'm not going to class today."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to kill you." It's healthy to ditch class now and then. To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilled. Mr. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class.

"Well, I'm going," she said. This didn't surprise me. She was responsible. She always did the right thing. She was my opposite.

"I'll see you later, then," I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. Please save yourself. Please never leave me. She hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that she would stay with me after all, but the bell rang, and she hurried away. I waited until she was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket—a souvenir of this most consequential conversation—and walked through the rain to my car. I put on my favorite calling CD, the same one I'd listened to that first day, but I wasn't hearing Deb's notes for long; other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Automatically, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys. The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish.

Is she going to pass out? What do I do? Mike panicked a hundred yards away. Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped. I took the door off the car.

"Bella!" I shouted. There was no change in her lifeless face when I yelled her name. My whole body went colder than ice. This was like a confirmation of every ludicrous scenario I'd imagined the very moment she was out of my sight. I was aware of Mike's aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through his thoughts. He was only thinking of his anger toward me, so I didn't know what was wrong with Bella. If he'd done something to harm her, I would annihilate him; not even the tiniest fragment of his body would ever be recovered.

"What's wrong? Is she hurt?" I demanded, trying to focus his thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach. Then I could hear her heart beating and her even breath as I watched. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic. I saw a flicker of memories in Mike's head, a splash of images from the biology room: Bella's head on our table, her fair skin turning green, drops of red against the white cards—blood typing. I stopped where I was, holding my breath. Her scent was one thing; her flowing blood was another altogether.

"I think she's fainted," Mike said, anxious and resentful at the same time. "I don't know what happened. She didn't even stick her finger."

Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. I could smell the tiny bleed of Mike Newton's puncture wound—once that might have appealed to me. I knelt beside her while Mike hovered next to me, furious at my intervention.

"Bella, can you hear me?"

"No," she moaned. "Go away."

The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. She wasn't in danger.

"I'm taking her to the nurse," Mike said, but she wouldn't go any farther.

"I'll take her. You can go back to class," I said dismissively. Mike's teeth clenched together.

"No, I'm supposed to do it."

I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the thrilled and terrified, half-grateful to and half-aggrieved by the predicament that made touching her a necessity. I gently lifted Bella from the sidewalk and held her in my arms, touching only her rain jacket and jeans, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have her safe, farther away from me, in other words. Her eyes popped open, astonished.

"Put me down," she ordered in a weak voice, embarrassed again, I guess, from her expression. She didn't like to show weakness, but her body was so limp I doubted she would be able to stand on her own, let alone walk. I ignored Mike's shouted protest behind us.

"You look awful," I told her, unable to stop grinning because there was nothing wrong with her but a light head and a weak stomach.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," she said; her lips were white.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" A twisted kind of irony.

"And not even your own blood," I added, my grin widening. We arrived at the front office; the door was propped open an inch, and I kicked it out of my way. Miss Cope jumped, startled.

"Oh, my," she gasped as she examined the ashen girl in my arms.

"She fainted in biology," I explained before her imagination could get too out of hand. Miss Cope hurried to get the door to the nurse's office. Bella's eyes were open again, watching her. I heard the elderly nurse's internal astonishment as I laid the girl carefully on the one shabby bed. As soon as Bella was out of my arms, I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too eager; my muscles tense and the venom flowing. She was so warm and fragrant.

"She's just a little faint," I reassured Mrs. Hammond. "Their blood typing in biology."

She nodded, understanding now. "There's always one."

I stifled a laugh. Trust Bella to be that one.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey," Mrs. Hammond said. "It'll pass."

"I know," Bella said.

"Does this happen a lot?" the nurse asked.

"Sometimes," Bella admitted. I tried to disguise my laughter as coughing. This brought me to the nurse's attention.

"You can go back to class now," she said. I looked her straight in the eye and lied with perfect confidence.

"I'm supposed to stay with her."

"H-I wonder… oh, well," Mrs. Hammond nodded. It worked just fine on the nurse. Why did Bella have to be so difficult?

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," the nurse said, slightly uncomfortable from looking into my eyes the way a human should be, and left the room.

"You are right," Bella moaned, closing her eyes. What did she mean? I jumped to the worst conclusion: she'd accepted my warnings.

"I usually am," I said, trying to keep the amusement in my voice. It sounded sour now. "But about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy," she sighed. Ah, relief again. She was silent then; she just breathed slowly in and out. Her lips were beginning to turn pink; her mouth was slightly out of balance, her upper lip just a little too full to match the lower. Staring at her mouth made me feel strange, made me want to move closer to her, which was not a good idea.

"You scared me for a minute there," I said, trying to restart the conversation. The quiet was painful in an odd way, leaving me alone without her voice.

"I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods," she responded. "Haha."

"I've seen corpses with better color," this was actually true. "I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder, and I would have… poor Mike."

She sighed. "I'll bet he's mad."

Fury ripped through me, but I contained it quickly. Her concern was surely just pity. She was kind; that was all.

"He absolutely loathes me," I told her, cheered by that idea.

"You can't know that. I saw his face," I could tell it was probably true that reading his face would have given me enough information to make that particular deduction. All this practice with Bella was sharpening my skill.

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching," her face looked better; the green undertone had vanished from her translucent skin. I was in my car listening to a CD.

Her mouth twitched, like my very ordinary answer had surprised her somehow. She opened her eyes again when Mrs. Hammond returned with an ice pack.

"Here you go, dear," the nurse said as she laid it across Bella's forehead.

"You're looking better," I think.

"I'm fine," Bella said, and she sat up while pulling the ice pack away. Of course, she didn't like to be taken care of. Miss Mrs. Hammond's wrinkled hands fluttered toward the girl as if she were going to push her back down, but just then Miss Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in. With her appearance came the smell of fresh blood—just a whiff, invisible in the office—behind her, Mike Newton was still very angry, wishing the heavy boy he dragged now was the girl who was in here with me.

"We've got another one," Miss Cope said. Bella quickly jumped down from the cot, eager to be out of the spotlight.

"Here," she said, handing the compress back to Mrs. Hammond. "I don't need this."

Mike grunted as he half-shoved Lee Stevens through the door; blood was still dripping down the hand Lee held to his face, trickling towards his wrist. Oh, no, this was my cue to leave, and Bella too, it seemed.

"Go out to the office," Bella she stared up at me, surprised. "Trust me, go."

She whirled and caught the door before it swung shut, rushing through to the office. I followed a few inches behind her; her swinging hair brushed my hand. She turned to look at me, still unsure.

"You actually listen to me? That was a first," her small nose wrinkled. I smelled the blood. I stared at her in blank surprise.

"People can't smell blood," well, I can. That's what makes me sick. It smells like rust and salt. My face froze, still staring. Was she… she really even human? She looked human; she felt soft as a human; she smelled human—well, better, actually. She acted human, sort of, but she didn't think like a human or respond like one. What other option was there though?

"What?" she demanded.

"It's nothing," Mike Newton interrupted us, then entering the room with resentful, violent thoughts. "You look better," he said to her rudely. My hand twitched, wanting to teach him some manners. I would have to watch myself, or I would end up actually killing this obnoxious boy.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," she said. For one wild second, I thought she was talking to me.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he answered sullenly. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I just have to turn around and come back." That was very good. I thought I was going to have to miss this whole hour with her, and now I got extra time instead—a gift I obviously did not deserve.

"Yeah, I guess," Mike mumbled. "So are you going this weekend to the beach?" What was this? They had plans. Anger froze me in place. It was a group trip, though. Mike was sorting through the other invitees in his head, counting places. It wasn't just the two of them; that didn't help my fury. I leaned motionlessly against the counter, controlling my response.

"Sure," I said. I was in. She promised him, so she'd said yes to him too. The jealousy burned more painful than thirst.

"We're meeting at my dad's store at ten, and Cullen's not invited," I'll be there," she said.

"I'll see you in Jim, then," see you," she replied. He shuffled off to his class, his thoughts full of: What does she see in that freak? Sure, he's rich, I guess. Girls think he's hot, but I don't see that. Too too perfect. I bet his dad experiments with plastic surgery on all of them; that's why they're all so white and pretty. It's not natural, and he's sort of scary-looking sometimes when he stares at me. I'd swear he's thinking about killing me, freak. Mike wasn't entirely unperceptive.

"Jim," Bella repeated quietly. A groan. I looked at her and saw that she was unhappy about something again. I wasn't sure why, but it was clear she didn't want to go to her next class with Mike, and I was all for that plan. I went to her side and bent close to her face, feeling the warmth of her skin radiating out to my lips. I didn't dare breathe.

"I can take care of that," I murmured. "Go sit down and look pale."

She did as I asked, sitting in one of the folding chairs and leaning her head back against the wall while, behind me, Miss Cope came out of the back room and went to her desk with her, her eyes closed. Bella looked as if she'd passed out again; her full color hadn't come back yet. I turned to the receptionist; hopefully, Bella was paying attention to this, I thought sardonically. This was how a human was supposed to respond.

"Miss Cope," I asked, using my persuasive voice again. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her heart sped up. Get a hold of yourself. Yes, that was interesting. When Shelly Cope's pulse quickened, it was because she found me physically attractive, not because she was frightened. I was used to that around human females, those who'd grown somewhat acclimatized to my kind through continued exposure. Yet, I hadn't considered that explanation for Bella's racing heart. I liked that thought, perhaps too much. I smiled, my careful, human-soothing smile, and Miss Cope's breathing got louder.

"Bella has Jim next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually… actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" I stared into her depthless eyes, enjoying the havoc that this wreaked on her thought processes. Was it possible that Bella…

Miss Cope had to swallow loudly before she answered. "Do you need to be excused too, Edward?"

"No, I have Mrs. Goff; she won't mind." I wasn't paying much attention to her now; I was exploring this new possibility. Huh. I would have liked to believe that Bella found me attractive, like other humans did, but when did Bella ever have the same reactions as other humans? I shouldn't get my hopes up.

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella?"

Bella nodded weakly, overreacting a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" I asked, amused by her poor theatrics. I knew she would want to walk; she wouldn't want to be weak.

"I'll walk," she said. Right again. She got up, hesitating for a moment as if to check her balance. I held the door for her, and we walked out into the rain. I watched her as she lifted her face to the light rain with her eyes closed, a slight smile on her lips. What was she thinking? Something about this action seemed off, and I quickly realized why: the posture looked unfamiliar to me. Normal human girls wouldn't raise their faces to the drizzle that way. Normal human girls usually wore makeup, even here in this wet place. Bella never wore makeup, nor should she. The cosmetics industry made billions of dollars a year from women who were trying to attain skin like hers.

"Thanks," she said, smiling at me now. "That's almost worth getting sick to miss Jim."

I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with her. Any time.

"So are you going this Saturday?" I mean, she sounded hopeful. Ah, her hope eased the sting of my jealousy. She wanted me with her, not Mike Newton, and I wanted to say yes, but there were many things to consider. For one, the sun would be shining this Saturday.

"Where are you all going exactly?" I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if the answer didn't matter much. Mike had said beach, though; not much chance of avoiding sunlight there. Emmett would be irritated if I canceled our plan, but that wouldn't stop me if there was any way to spend the time with her. Down to La Push to First Beach. It wasn't possible, then. I managed my disappointment, then glanced down at her smiling face.

"Riley, I really don't think I was invited," she sighed, already resigned.

"I just invited you. Let's—you and I—not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." I thought about snapping poor Mike myself and enjoyed the mental picture intensely.

"Mike sch-Mike," she said, dismissive again. I smiled, and then she started to walk away from me without thinking about my action. I automatically reached out and caught her by the back of her rain jacket. She jerked to a stop.

"Where do you think you're going?" I was upset, almost angry that she was leaving. I hadn't had enough time with her.

"I'm going home," she said, clearly baffled as to why this should upset me. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home?"

"Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" I knew she wouldn't like that—my implication of weakness on her part—but I needed to practice for the Seattle trip, to see if I could handle her proximity in an enclosed space. This was a much shorter journey.

"What condition?" she demanded. "And what about my truck?"

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." I pulled her back toward my car carefully. Apparently, walking forward was challenging enough for her.

"Let go," she said, twisting sideways and nearly tripping. I held one hand out to catch her, but she righted herself before it was necessary. I shouldn't be looking for excuses to touch her. That started me thinking again about Miss Cope's reaction to me, but I filed it away for later; there was much to be considered on that front. I let her go as she asked and then regretted it. She immediately tripped and stumbled into the passenger door of my car. I would have to be even more careful to take into account her poor balance.

"You are so pushy," she was right. My behavior was odd, and that was the kindest description. Would she tell me no now?

"It's open." I got in on my side and started the car. She held her body rigidly still outside, though the rain had picked up, and I knew she didn't like the cold and wet; water was soaking through her thick hair, darkening it to near black.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home," of course she was, but I craved her time in a way that I never really wanted anything else before—not immediate and demanding like thirst. This was something different, a different kind of want, a different kind of pain. She shivered. I rolled the passenger side window down and leaned toward her.

"Please get in, Bella." Her eyes narrowed, and I guessed that she was debating whether or not to make a run for it.

"I could drag you back," I joked, wondering if my guess was correct. The consternation on her face told me it was. Her chin held stiffly in the air. She opened her door and climbed in. Her hair dripped on the leather, and her boots squeaked against each other.

"This is completely unnecessary," she said. I thought she looked more embarrassed than really angry. Was my behavior entirely offside? I thought I was teasing, that I was acting like the average bad teenage boy, but what if I'd gotten it wrong? Did she feel coerced? I realized she had every reason to. I didn't know how to do this, how to court her as a normal human, modern man in the year 2005. As a human, I'd only learned the customs of my time thanks to my strange gift. I knew quite well how people thought now, what they did, how they acted, but when I tried to act casual and modern, it all seemed wrong, probably because I wasn't normal or modern or human, and it wasn't as if I'd learned anything usable from my family. None of them had had anything near a normal courtship. Even accepting the two other qualifications, Rosalie and Emmett had been the cliché, the classic love-at-first-sight story. There had never been a moment where either one had questioned what they were to each other. In the first second Rosalie saw Emmett, she'd been drawn to the innocence and honesty that had evaded her in life, and she wanted him. In the first second that Emmett saw Rosalie, he saw a goddess whom he had worshiped without cease ever since. There had never been an awkward first conversation full of doubt, never a fingernail-biting moment of waiting for a yes or no. Alice and Jasper's union had been even less normal. For all the twenty-eight years up to their first meeting, Alice had known she would love Jasper; she'd seen years, decades, centuries of their future lives together, and Jasper, feeling all her emotions in that long-awaited moment, the purity and certainty and depth of her love couldn't help but be overwhelmed. It must have felt like a tsunami to him. Carlisle and Esme had been slightly more typical than…

The others, I supposed. Esme had already been in love with Carlile, much to his shock, but not through any mystical, magical means. She’d met Carlile as a girl and, drawn to his gentleness, wit, and otherworldly beauty, formed an attachment that had haunted her for the rest of her human years. Life had not been kind to Esme, and so it was not surprising that this golden memory of a good man had never been supplanted in her heart. After the burning torment of transformation, when she’d awakened to the face of her long-cherished dream, her affections were entirely his.

I’d been on hand to caution Carlile about her unforeseen reaction. He’d expected that she would be shocked by her transformation, traumatized by the pain, horrified by what she’d become, much as I had been. He’d expected to have to explain and apologize, to soothe and to atone. He knew there was a good chance that she would have preferred death, that she would despise him for the choice made without her knowledge or consent. So the fact that she had been immediately prepared to join this life—not really the life, but to join him—was not something he was ready for. He’d never seen himself as a possible object of romantic love before that moment. It seemed contrary to what he was: a vampire, a monster.

The knowledge I gave him changed the way he looked at Esme, the way he looked at himself. More than that, it was a very powerful thing, choosing to save someone. It was not a decision any sane individual made lightly. When Carlile chose me, he’d already felt a dozen binding emotions toward me before I’d even awakened to what was happening: responsibility, anxiety, tenderness, pity, hope, compassion. There was a natural ownership to the act that I’d never experienced, only heard about through his thoughts and Rosalie’s. He already felt like my father before I knew his name. For me, it was effortless and instinctive to fall into my role as son. Love came easily, though I’d always attributed that more to who he was as a person than to his initiating my conversion.

So whether for these reasons, or whether it was because Carlile and Esme were simply meant to be, even with my gift to hear it all as it happened, I would never know. She loved him, and he quickly found he could return that love. It was a very short period of time before his surprise changed to wonder, to discovery, and to romance. So much happiness, just a few moments of easily overcome awkwardness, all smoothed out with the help of a little mind-reading. Nothing so awkward as this; none of them had been clueless and floundering like me.

Not a full second had passed while these less complicated pairings passed through my mind. Bella was just closing her door. I quickly turned up the heater so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable and lowered the music to a background volume. I drove toward the exit, watching her from the corner of my eye. Her lower lip was jutting out stubbornly. Suddenly, she looked at the stereo with interest, her sulky expression disappearing. “Clare Delon,” she asked. “A fan of the classics?” “You know Debussy?” “Not well,” she said. “My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house. I only know my favorites.” “It’s one of my favorites too.”

I stared at the rain, considering that I actually had something in common with the girl I’d begun to think that we were opposites in every way. She seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseen eyes. I used her momentary distraction to experiment with breathing. I inhaled carefully through my nose—potent. I clutched the steering wheel tightly. The rain made her smell better. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. My tongue tingled in anticipation of the taste. The monster wasn’t dead, I realized with disgust, just biding his time. I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat; it didn’t help. This made me angry. I had so little time with the girl; look at the lengths I’d already had to go to in order to secure an extra 15 minutes. I took another breath and fought with my reaction. I had to be stronger than this. “What would I be doing if I weren’t the villain of this story?” I asked myself. “How would I be using this valuable time?” I would be learning more about her. “What is your mother like?” I asked.

Bella smiled. “She looks a lot like me, but she’s prettier.” I eyed her skeptically. “I have too much Charlie in me,” she went on. “She’s more outgoing than I am, and braver.” Outgoing, I believed; braver, I wasn’t sure. “She’s irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she’s a very unpredictable cook. She’s my best friend.” Her voice had turned melancholy; her forehead creased as I had noticed before. Her tone sounded more like parent than child. I stopped in front of her house, wondering too late if I was supposed to know where she lived. No, this wouldn’t be suspicious in such a small town, with her father a public figure. “How old are you, Bella?” She must be older than her peers; perhaps she’d been late to start school or been held back. That didn’t seem likely, though, bright as she was. “I’m 17,” she answered. “You don’t seem 17.” She laughed. “What my mom always says. I was born 35 years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.” She laughed again and then sighed. “Well, someone has to be the adult.”

This clarified things for me. It was easy to understand how the irresponsibility of the mother would result in the maturity of the daughter. She’d had to grow up early to become the caretaker; that’s why she didn’t like being cared for; she felt it was her job. “You don’t seem much like a junior in high school yourself,” she said, pulling me from my revery. I frowned. For everything I perceived about her, she perceived too much in return. I changed the subject. “So why did your mother marry Phil?” She hesitated a minute before answering. “My mother… she’s very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she’s crazy about him.” She shook her head indulgently. “Do you approve?” I wondered. “Does it matter?” she asked. “I want her to be happy, and he is who she wants.” The unselfishness of her comment would have shocked me, except that it fit in all too well with what I’d learned of her character. “That’s very generous.” I wondered, “Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think, no matter who your choice was?” It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it. How stupid to even consider someone approving of me for her daughter; how stupid to even think of Bella choosing me.

“I… I think so,” she stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze. Was it fear? I thought of Miss Cope again. What were the other tells? Wide eyes could designate both emotions; the fluttering lashes, though, seemed to point away from fright. Bella’s lips were parted. She recovered. “But she’s the parent, after all. It’s a little bit different.” I smiled. “Riley… no one too scary then?” “What do you mean by scary?” “Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos,” she grinned at me. “That’s one definition, I suppose. A very non-threatening definition to my mind.” “What’s your definition?” She always asked the wrong questions, or exactly the right ones—maybe the ones I didn’t want to answer. At… at any rate, “Do you think that I could be scary?” I asked her, trying to smile a little. She thought it through before answering me in a serious voice. “Hm, I think you could be, if you wanted to.” I was serious too. “Are you frightened of me now?” She answered at once, not thinking this one through. “No.” I smiled more easily. I did not think she was entirely telling the truth, but neither was she truly lying. She wasn’t frightened enough to want to leave, at least. I wondered how she would feel if I told her she was having this discussion with a vampire, and then cringed internally at her imagined reaction. “So now, are you going to tell me about your family? It’s got to be a much more interesting story than mine—a more frightening one, at least.” “What do you want to know?” I asked cautiously.

“The Cullens adopted you?” “Yes,” she hesitated, then spoke in a small voice. “What happened to your parents?” This wasn’t so hard; I wasn’t even having to lie to her. “They died a very long time ago.” “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, clearly worried about having hurt me. She was worried about me—such a strange feeling to see her care, even in this common way. “I don’t really remember them that clearly,” I assured her. “Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.” “And you love them,” she deduced. I smiled. “Yes.” “I couldn’t imagine two better people.” “You’re very lucky.” “I know I am, in that one circumstance—the matter of parents. My luck could not be denied.” “And your brother and sister?” If I let her push for too many details, I would have to lie. I glanced at the clock, disheartened that my time with her was up, but also relieved. The pain was severe, and I worried that the burn in my throat might suddenly flare up hot enough to control me. “My brother and sister—and Jasper and Rosalie, for that matter—are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me.” “Oh, sorry. I guess you have to go.” She didn’t move; she didn’t want our time to be up either. The pain wasn’t so bad, really, I thought, but I should be responsible. “And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don’t have to tell him about the biology incident.” I grinned at the memory of her embarrassment in my arms. “I’m sure he’s already heard. There are no secrets in Forks.” She said the name of the town with distinct distaste. I laughed at her words. “No secrets indeed.” “Have fun at the beach.” I glanced at the pouring rain, knowing it would not last and wishing more strongly than usual that it could. “Good weather for sunbathing… well, it would be by Saturday.” She would enjoy that, and her happiness had become the most important thing—more important than my own. “Won’t I see you tomorrow?” The worry in her tone pleased me, but also made me yearn to not have to disappoint her. “No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early.” I was angry at myself now for having made the plans. I could break them, but there was no such thing as too much hunting at this point, and my family was going to be concerned enough about my behavior without me revealing how obsessive I was turning. I still wasn’t sure exactly what madness had possessed me last night. I really needed to find a way to control my impulses; perhaps a little distance would help with that. “What are you going to do?” she asked, sounding not at all happy with my revelation. “More pleasure, more pain. We’re going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier. Emmett was eager for bear season.” “Oh well, have fun,” she said half-heartedly. Her lack of enthusiasm pleased me again as I stared at her. I began to feel almost agonized at the thought of saying even a temporary goodbye. She was so soft, so vulnerable. It seemed foolhardy to let her out of my sight, where anything could happen to her, and yet the worst things that could happen to her would result from being with me. “Will you do something for me this weekend?” I asked seriously. She nodded, though clearly mystified by my intensity. “Keep it light. Don’t be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet, so try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything.” “All right,” I smiled ruefully at her, hoping she couldn’t see the real sorrow in my eyes; how much I wished that she wasn’t so much better off away from me, no matter what might happen to her. “There, run, Bella, run. I love you too much for your good or mine.” She was offended by my teasing; I must have done it wrong again. She glared at me. “I’ll see what I can do,” she snapped, jumping out into the rain and slamming the door as hard as she could behind her. I curled my hand around the key I just picked from her jacket pocket and inhaled her scent deeply as I drove away.

Chapter 7 Melody

I had to wait. When I got back to school, the final hour wasn’t out yet. That was good, because I had things to think about, and I needed the alone time. Her scent lingered in the car. I kept the windows up, letting it assault me, trying to get used to the feel of intentionally torching my throat. Attraction—it was a problematic thing to contemplate, so many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably. I had no idea if Bella was attracted to me. Would her mental silence somehow continue to get more and more frustrating until I went mad, or was there a limit that I would eventually reach? I tried to compare her physical responses to others, like the receptionist and Jessica Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. Certainly other women, and men too, had reacted to my face with instinctive apprehension; many more had that response than the alternative. It seemed unlikely that Bella could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jessica Stanley used to have. After all, Bella knew very well that there was something wrong with me, even if she didn’t know exactly what it was. She had touched my icy skin and then yanked her hand away from the chill. And yet I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Bella in… in Jessica’s place. I was breathing more quickly, the fire clawing up and down my throat. What if it had been Bella, imagining me with my arms wrapped around her fragile body, feeling me pull her tightly against my chest and then cupping my hand under her chin, brushing the heavy curtain of her hair back from her blushing face, tracing the shape of her full lips with my fingertips, leaning my face closer to hers where I could feel the heat of her breath on my mouth, moving closer still… but then I flinched away from the daydream, knowing, as I had known when Jessica had imagined these things, what would happen if I got that close to her. Attraction was an impossible dilemma because I was already too attracted to Bella in the worst way. Did I want Bella to be attracted to me? A woman to a man—that was the wrong question. The right question was, should I want Bella to be attracted to me that way? And the answer was no, because I was not a human man, and that wasn’t fair to her. With every fiber of my being, I ached to be a normal man, so that I could hold her in my arms without risking her life, so that I could be free to spin my own fantasies—fantasies that didn’t end with her blood on my hands, her blood glowing in my eyes. My pursuit of her was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer her when I couldn’t risk touching her? I hung my head in my hands. It was all the more confusing because I had never felt so human in my whole life—not even when I was human. As far as I could recall, in those days my thoughts had all been turned to a soldier’s glory. The Great War had raged through most of my adolescence, and I’d been only nine months away from my eighteenth birthday when the influenza had struck. I had just vague impressions of those human years, murky memories that became less real with every passing decade. I remembered my mother most clearly and felt an ancient ache when I thought of her face. I recalled dimly how much she hated the future I’d raced eagerly toward, praying every night when she said grace at dinner that the horrid war would end. I had no memories of another kind of yearning besides my mother’s love; there was no other love that had made me wish to stay. This was entirely new to me; I had no parallels to draw, no comparisons to make. The love I felt for Bella had come purely, but now the waters were muddied. I wanted very much to be able to touch her. Did she feel the same way? That didn’t matter, I tried to convince myself. I stared at my white hands, hating their hardness, their coldness, their inhuman strength.

I jumped when the passenger door opened. “Ha, caught you by surprise. There’s a first,” Emmett thought as he slid into the seat. “I’ll bet Mrs. Cope thinks you’re on drugs; you’ve been so erratic lately. Where were you today?” “I was doing good deeds, huh,” I chuckled. “Caring for the sick—that kind of thing.” That confused him more, but then he inhaled and caught the scent in the car. “Oh, the girl again.” I scowled. “This is getting weird.” “Tell me about it,” I mumbled. He inhaled again. “Hm, she does have quite a flavor, doesn’t she?” The snarl broke through my lips before his words had even registered all the way—an automatic response. “Easy, kid. I’m just saying…” The others arrived then. Rosalie noticed the scent at once and glowered at me, still not over her irritation. I wondered what her real problem was, but all I could hear from her were insults. I didn’t like Jasper’s reaction either; like Emmett, he noticed Bella’s appeal—not that the scent had, for either of them, a thousandth portion of the draw it had for me—but it still upset me that her blood was sweet to them. Jasper had poor control. Alice skipped to my side of the car and held her hand out for Bella’s truck key. “I only saw that I was,” she said, as was her habit, obscurely. “You’ll have to tell me the why. This doesn’t mean I know.” “I know. I’ll wait. It won’t be long,” I sighed and gave her the key. I followed her to Bella’s house. The rain was pounding down like a million tiny hammers, so loud that Bella’s human ears might not hear the thunder of the truck’s engine. I watched her window, but she didn’t come to look out. Maybe she wasn’t there. There were no thoughts to hear. It made me sad that I couldn’t hear enough of her thoughts, even to check on her, to make sure she was happy or safe, at the very least. Alice climbed into the back, and we sped home. The roads were empty, and so it only took a few minutes. We trooped into the house and then went to our various pastimes. Emmett and Jasper were in the middle of an elaborate game of chess, utilizing eight joined boards spread out along the glass back wall and their own complicated set of rules. They wouldn’t let me play; only Alice would play games with me anymore. Alice went to her computer, just around the corner from them, and I could hear her monitors sing to life. She was working on a fashion design project for Rosalie’s wardrobe, but Rosalie did not join her today to stand behind her and direct cut and color as Alice’s hand traced over the touch-sensitive screens. Instead, today Rosalie sprawled sullenly on the sofa and started flipping through 20 channels a second on the flat screen, never pausing. I could hear her trying to decide whether or not to go out to the garage and tune her BMW again. Esme was upstairs, humming over a set of blueprints. She was always designing something new; perhaps she would build this one for our next home, or the one after that. Alice leaned her head around the wall after a moment and started mouthing Emmett’s next moves. Emmett sat on the floor with his back to her, to Jasper, who kept his expression very smooth as he cut off Emmett’s favorite knight.

For the first time in so long that I felt ashamed, I went to sit at the exquisite grand piano stationed just off the entryway. I ran my hand gently up the scales, testing the pitch. The tuning was still perfect. Upstairs, Esme’s pencil paused, and she cocked her head to the side. I began the first line of the tune that had suggested itself to me in the car today, pleased that it sounded even better than I imagined. “Edward is playing again,” Esme thought joyously, a smile breaking across her face. She got up from her drafting desk and flitted silently to the head of the stairs. I added a harmonizing line, letting the central melody weave through it. Esme sighed with contentment, sat down on the top step, and leaned her head against the baluster. “A new song? It’s been so long. What a lovely tune.” I let the melody lead in a new direction, following it with a bassline. “Edward is composing again,” Rosalie thought, and her teeth clenched together in fierce resentment. In that moment, she slipped, and I could read all her underlying outrage. I saw why she was in such a poor temper with me, why killing Isabella Swan had not bothered her conscience at all. With Rosalie, it was always about vanity. The music came to an abrupt halt, and I laughed before I could help myself—a sharp bark of amusement that broke off quickly as I threw my hand over my mouth. Rosalie turned to glare at me, her eyes sparkling with mortified fury. Emmett and Jasper turned to stare too, and I heard Esme’s confusion. She was downstairs in a flash, pausing to glance between Rosalie and me. “Don’t stop, Edward,” Esme encouraged. After a strained moment, I started playing again, turning my back on Rosalie while trying very hard to control the grin stretching across my face. She got to her feet and stalked out of the room, more angry than embarrassed, but certainly quite embarrassed. “If you say one word, I will put you down like a dog.” I smothered another laugh. “What’s wrong, Rose?” Emmett called after her. Rosalie didn’t turn back; ramrod straight, she continued to the garage and then squirmed under her car as if she could bury herself there. “What was that about?” Emmett asked me. “I don’t have the faintest idea,” I lied. Emmett grumbled, frustrated. “Keep playing,” Esme urged. My fingers had paused again. I did as she asked, and she came to stand behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. The song was compelling but incomplete. I toyed with a bridge, but it didn’t seem right somehow. “It’s charming. Does it have a name?” Esme asked. “Not yet.” “Is there a story to it?” she asked, a smile in her voice. This gave her very great pleasure, and I felt guilty for having neglected my music for so long. It had been selfish. “It’s a lullaby, I suppose.” “I got the bridge right then,” it led easily to the next movement, taking on a life of its own. “A lullaby,” she repeated to herself. There was a story to this melody, and once I saw that, the pieces fell into place effortlessly. The story was a sleeping girl in a narrow bed, dark hair thick and wild and twisted like seaweed across the pillow. Alice left Jasper to his own skill and came to sit next to me on the bench. In her trilling windchime voice, she sketched out a wordless descant two octaves above the melody. “I like it,” I murmured. “But how about this?” I added her line to the harmony, my hands flying across the keys to work all the pieces together, modifying it a bit, taking it in a new direction. She caught the mood and sang along. “Yes, perfect,” I said. Esme squeezed my shoulder, but I could see the conclusion now, with Alice’s voice rising above the tune and taking it to another place. I could see how the song must end, because the sleeping girl was perfect just the way she was, and any change at all would be wrong. A sadness—the song drifted toward that realization, slower and lower. Alice’s voice lowered too and became solemn, a tone that belonged under the echoing arches of a candlelit cathedral. I played the last note and then bowed my head over the keys. Esme stroked my hair. “It’s going to be fine, Edward. This is going to work out for the best. You deserve happiness, my son. Fate owes you that.” “Thank you,” I whispered, wishing I could believe it and that my happiness was the one that mattered. “Love doesn’t always come in convenient packages,” I laughed once, without humor. “You, out of everyone on this planet, are perhaps best equipped to deal with such a difficult quandary. You are the best and the brightest of us all.” I sighed. “Every mother thought the same of her son.” Esme was still full of joy that my heart had finally been touched after all this time, no matter the potential for tragedy. She’d thought I would always be alone. “She’ll have to love you back,” she thought suddenly, catching me by surprise in the direction of her thoughts. “If she’s a bright girl,” she smiled. “But I… I can’t imagine anyone being so slow they wouldn’t see the catch.” “You are—stop it, Mom. You’re making me blush,” I teased. Her words, though improbable, did cheer me up. Alice laughed and picked out…

The Top Hand of heart and soul. I grinned and completed the simple harmony with her. Then I favored her with a performance of Chopsticks. She giggled, then sighed.

"So I wish you'd tell me what you were laughing at, Rose," Alice said, "but I can see that you won't."

"Don't," she flicked my ear with her finger. "Be nice, Alice," Esme chided. "Edward is being a gentleman, but I want to know."

I laughed at the whining tone she put on, then I said, "Here, Esme," and began playing her favorite song, an unnamed tribute to the love I'd watched between her and Carlisle for so many years.

"Thank you, dear," she squeezed my shoulder again. I didn't have to concentrate to play the familiar piece; instead, I thought of Rosalie, still figuratively writhing in humiliation in the garage, and grinned to myself, having just discovered the potency of jealousy for myself. I had a small amount of pity for her; it was a wretched way to feel, of course. Her jealousy was a thousand times more petty than mine—quite the dog in the manger scenario. I wondered how Rosy's life and personality would have been different if she had not always been the most beautiful. Would she have been a happy person, less egocentric, more compassionate if beauty hadn't at all times been her strongest selling point? Well, I supposed it was useless to wonder because the past was done, and she always had been the most beautiful, even when human, she had ever lived in the spotlight of her own loveliness. Not that she'd minded; the opposite—she'd loved admiration above all else. That hadn't changed with the loss of her mortality. It was no surprise, then, taking this need as a given, that she'd been offended when I had not, from the beginning, worshiped her beauty the way she expected all males to worship. Not that she'd wanted me in any way—far from it—but it had aggravated her that I did not want her, despite that. It was different with Jasper and Carlisle; they were already both in love. I was completely unattached, and yet still remained obstinately unmoved. I thought that old resentment buried; that she was long past it, and she had been until the day I finally found someone whose beauty touched me the way hers had not. Of course, I should have realized how that would annoy her. I probably would have had I not been so preoccupied. Rosalie had relied on the belief that if I did not find her beauty worth worshiping, then certainly there was no beauty on Earth that would reach me. She'd been furious since the moment I'd saved Bella's life, guessing, with her shrewd, competitive intuition, the interest that I was all but unconscious of myself. Rosalie was mortally offended that I found some insignificant human girl more appealing than her.

I suppressed the urge to laugh again. It bothered me some, though, the way she saw Bella. Rosalie actually thought the girl plain. How could she believe that? It seemed incomprehensible to me—a product of the jealousy, no doubt.

"Oh, Alice," said Alice abruptly, "Jasper, guess what I saw."

What she'd just seen, and my hands froze on the keys.

"What, Alice?" Jasper asked.

"Peter and Charlotte are coming to visit next week. They're going to be in the neighborhood."

"Isn't that nice?"

"What's wrong, Edward?" Esme asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders.

"Peter and Charlotte are coming to Forks," I hissed at Alice. She rolled her eyes at me.

"Calm down, Edward. It's not their first visit."

My teeth clenched. It was their first visit since Bella had arrived, and her sweet blood didn't appeal just to me. Alice frowned at my expression.

"They never hunt here, you know that."

But Jasper's brother of sorts and the little vampire he loved were not like us; they hunted the usual way. They could not be trusted around Bella. When I demanded, she pursed her lips unhappily, but told me what I needed to know.

"Monday morning."

"No one is going to hurt Bella," I agreed and then turned away from her. "You ready, EMT?"

"I thought we were leaving in the morning."

"We're coming back by midnight Sunday. I guess it's up to you when we want to leave."

"Okay, fine. Let me say goodbye to Rose first."

"Sure." With the mood Rosalie was in, it would be a short goodbye.

"You really have lost it, Edward," he thought as he headed toward the back door.

"I suppose I have," I said. "Play the new song for me one more time," Esme asked.

"If you'd like that," I agreed, though I was a little hesitant to follow the tune to its unavoidable end, the end that had set me aching in unfamiliar ways. I thought for a moment and then pulled the bottle cap from my pocket and set it on the empty music rack. That helped a bit—my little memento of her.

"Yes," I nodded to myself and started playing. Esme and Alice exchanged a glance, but neither one asked.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" I called to EMT.

"Oh, hey, Edward," he shouted back, grinning and waving at me. The bear took advantage of his distraction to rake its heavy paw across EMT's chest. The sharp claws shredded through his shirt and squealed across his skin like knives across steel. The bear bellowed at the high-pitched noise.

"Ah, hell!" Rose gave me this shirt.

"EMT roared back at the enraged animal. I sighed and sat down on a convenient boulder. This might take a while, but EMT was almost done. He let the bear try to take his head off with another swipe of the paw, laughing as the blow bounced off and sent the beast staggering back. The bear roared, and EMT roared again through his laughter, then he launched himself at the animal, which stood a head taller than him on its hind legs, and their bodies fell to the ground, tangled up together, taking a mature spruce tree down with them. The bear's growls cut off with a gurgle. A few minutes later, EMT jogged over to where I was waiting for him. His shirt was destroyed, torn and bloodied, sticky with sap and covered in fur. His dark curly hair wasn't in much better shape. He had a huge grin on his face. That was a strong one; I could almost feel it when he clawed me.

"You're such a child, EMT," he eyed my smooth, clean white button-down. "Weren't you able to track down that mountain lion, then?"

"Of course I was. I just don't eat like a savage," EMT laughed, his booming laugh. "I wish they were stronger; it would be more fun."

"No one said you had to fight your food."

"Yeah, but who else am I going to fight with? You and Alice cheat. Rose never wants to mess up her hair, and Esme gets mad if Jasper and I really go at it. Life is hard all around, isn't it?" EMT grinned at me, shifting his weight a bit so he was suddenly poised to take a charge. "Come on, Edward, just turn it off for 1 minute and fight fair."

"It doesn't turn off," I reminded him.

"Wonder what that human girl does to keep you out," EMT mused. "Maybe she could give me some pointers."

My good humor vanished.

"Stay away from her," I growled through my teeth.

"Touchy, touchy," I sighed. EMT came to sit beside me on the rock. "Sorry. I know you're going through a tough spot. I really am trying not to be too much of an insensitive jerk, but since that's sort of my natural state…" He waited for me to laugh at his joke and then made a face. "So serious all the time. What's bugging you now?"

"Thinking about her. Well, worrying really."

"What's there to worry about? You are here," he laughed loudly.

I ignored his joke again, but answered his question. "Have you ever thought about how fragile they all are? How many bad things can happen to her? Mortal…"

"Not really. I guess I see what you mean, though. I wasn't much match for a bear that first time around, was I?"

"Bears," I muttered, adding a new fear to the already large pile. "That would be just her luck, wouldn't it? Stray bear in town, of course it would head straight for Bella."

EMT chuckled. "You sound like a crazy person."

"You can hear that, right? Just imagine for one minute that Rosalie was human, EMT, and she could run into a bear or get hit by a car or lightning or fall downstairs or get sick, get a disease…" The words burst from me stormily. It was a relief to let them out; they'd been festering inside me all weekend. "Fires and earthquakes and tornadoes…"

"When's the last time you watched the news? Have you seen the kinds of things that can happen to them? Burglaries and homicides…" My teeth clenched together, and I was abruptly so infuriated by the idea of another human hurting her that I couldn't breathe.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up there, kid. She lives in Forks, remember? So she gets rained on," he shrugged. "I think she has some serious bad luck, EMT. I really do. Look at the evidence. Of all the places in the world she could go, she ends up in a town where vampires make up a significant portion of the population."

"Yeah, but we're vegetarians, so isn't that good luck, not bad?"

"With the way she smell… smells, definitely bad. And then more bad luck—the way she smells to me." I glowered at my hands, hating them again. "Except that you have more self-control than just about anyone but Carlisle. Good luck again. The van—that was just an accident. You should have seen it coming for her. Em… again and again, I swear it was like she had some kind of magnetic pull, but you were there. That was good luck, was it?"

"Isn't this the worst luck any human could ever possibly have—to have a vampire fall in love with them?" EMT considered that quietly for a moment. He pictured the girl in his head and found the image uninteresting. "Honestly, I can't really see the draw."

"Well, I can't really see Rosalie's either," I said rudely. "Honestly, she seems like more work than any pretty face is worth."

EMT chuckled. "I don't suppose you tell me…"

"I don't know what her problem is, EMT," I lied, with a sudden wide grin. I saw his intent in time to brace myself. He tried to shove me off the rock, and there was a loud cracking sound as a fissure opened in the stone between us.

"Cheater," he muttered. I waited for him to try another time, but his thoughts took a different direction. He was picturing Bella's face again, but imagining it white, her imagining her eyes bright red.

"No," I said, my voice strangled. "It solves your worries about mortality, doesn't it? And then you wouldn't want to kill her either. Isn't that the best way? For me or for her?"

"For you," he answered easily; his tone added the "of course." I laughed humorlessly.

"Wrong answer."

"I didn't mind so much," he reminded me. "Rosalie did." He sighed. We both knew that Rosalie would do anything, give up anything if it meant she could be human again—anything, even…

"EMT,"

"Yeah, Rose did," he acquiesced quietly. "I can't… I… I shouldn't… I'm not going to ruin Bella's life."

"Wouldn't you feel the same if it were Rosalie?" EMT thought about that for a moment.

"You really love her."

"I can't even describe it, Em…" All of a sudden this girl's the whole world to me. I don't see the point of the rest of the world without her anymore.

"But you won't change her. She won't last forever, Edward."

"I know that," I groaned. "And as you've pointed out, she's sort of breakable."

"Trust me that I know too," EMT was not a tactful person, and delicate discussions were not his forte. He struggled now, wanting very much not to be offensive. "Can you even touch her? I mean, if you love her, wouldn't you want to… well, touch her?" EMT and Rosalie shared an intensely physical love; he had a hard time understanding how one could love without that aspect.

I sighed. "I can't even think of that."

"EMT,"

"Wow. So what are your options then?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "I'm trying to figure out a way to… to leave her. I just can't fathom how to make myself stay away."

With a deep sense of gratification, I suddenly realized that it was right for me to stay, at least for now. With Peter and Charlotte on their way, she was safer with me here temporarily than she would be if I were gone. For that moment, I could be her unlikely protector. The thought made me anxious. I itched to be back so that I could fill that role for as long as possible. EMT noticed the change in my expression.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

I admitted a bit sheepishly, "I'm dying to run back to Forks and check on her."

"I don't know if I'll make it to Sunday night."

"Uh-uh. You are not going home early. Let Rosy cool down a little bit, please. For my sake."

"I'll try to stay," I said doubtfully. EMT tapped the phone in my pocket. "Alice would call if there were any basis for your panic attack. She's as weird about this girl as you are."

I couldn't argue with that. "Fine, but I'm not staying past Sunday."

"There's no point in hurrying back. It's going to be sunny anyway," Alice said. We were free from school until Wednesday. I shook my head rigidly. "Peter and Charlotte know how to behave themselves. I really don't care, EMT."

"With Bella's luck, she'll go wandering off into the woods at exactly the wrong moment," I flinched.

"I'm going back Sunday," I said, exactly like a crazy person.

Bella was sleeping peacefully when I climbed up to her bedroom window early Monday morning. I'd brought oil to grease the mechanism, entirely surrendering to that particular devil, and the window now moved silently out of my way. I could tell by the way her hair lay smooth across the pillow that she'd had a less restless night than the last time I was here. She had her hands folded under her chin like a small child, and her mouth was slightly open. I could hear her breath moving slowly in and out between her lips. It was an amazing relief to be here, to be able to see her again. I realized that I wasn't truly at ease unless that was the case. Nothing was right when I was away from her—not that all was right when I was with her either. I sighed and then inhaled, letting the thirst fire rake down my throat. I'd been away from it too long; the time spent without pain and temptation made it all the more forceful now. It was bad enough that I was afraid to go kneel beside her bed so that I could read the titles of her books. I wanted to know the stories in her head, but I was afraid of more than my thirst—afraid that if I let myself get that close to her, I would want to be closer still. Her lips looked very soft and warm. I could imagine touching them with the tip of my finger, just lightly. That was exactly the kind of mistake I had to avoid. My eyes ran over her face again and again, examining it for changes. Mortals changed all the time; I was anxious at the thought of missing anything. I thought she looked tired, as though she hadn't gotten enough sleep. This weekend—had she gone out? I laughed silently at how much that upset me. So what if she had? I don't own her. She wasn't mine… no, she wasn't mine, and I was sad again.

"Mom," she murmured quietly. "No… let me… please…" The stress mark between her brows, shaped like a small V, was etched deep. Whatever Bella's mother was doing in her dream, it clearly worried her. She rolled suddenly to her other side, but her eyelids never flickered.

"Yes… yes," she muttered and then sighed. "It's too green…" One of her hands twitched, and I noticed that there were shallow, barely healed scrapes across the heel of her palm. She'd been hurt, even though it was obviously not a serious injury; it still disturbed me. I considered the location and decided she must have tripped. That seemed a reasonable explanation, all things considered. She pleaded with her mother a few more times, mumbled something about the sun, then slipped into a quieter sleep and did not move again. It was comforting to think that I wouldn't have to puzzle over any of these small mysteries forever. We were friends now, or at least trying to be friends. I could ask her about her weekend, about the beach and whatever late-night activity had made her look so weary. I could ask what had happened to her hands, and I could laugh a little when she confirmed my theory about them. I smiled gently as I wondered whether she had fallen in the ocean. I wondered if she'd had a pleasant time on the outing. I wondered if she'd thought about me at all; if she'd missed me, even the tiniest portion of the amount that I'd missed her. I tried to picture her in the sun on the beach. The picture was incomplete, though, because I'd never been to First Beach myself. I only knew how it looked from pictures. I felt a tiny qualm of unease as I thought about the reason I'd never once been to the pretty beach located just a short run from my home. Bella had spent the day at La Push—a place where I was forbidden by treaty to go, a place where a few old men still remembered the stories about the Cullens, remembered and believed them, a place where our secret was known. I shook my head. I had nothing to worry about there. The Quileute were bound by treaty too. Even had Bella run into one of those aging sages, they could reveal nothing. And why would the subject ever be broached? No, the Quileute were perhaps the one thing I did not have to worry about.

I was angry with the sun when it began to rise. It reminded me that I could not satisfy my curiosity for days to come. Why did it choose to shine now? With a sigh, I ducked out of her window before it was light enough for anyone to see me here. I meant to stay in the thick forest by her house and see her off to school, but when I got into the trees, I was surprised to find the trace of her scent lingering on the narrow pathway there. I followed it quickly, curiously becoming more and more worried as it led deeper into the darkness. What had Bella been doing out here? The trail she left stopped abruptly in the middle of nowhere in particular. She'd gone just a few steps off the path into the ferns, where she touched the trunk of a fallen tree—perhaps sat there. I sat where she had and looked around. All she would have been able to see was ferns and forest. It had probably been raining; the scent was washed out, having never set deeply into the tree. Why would Bella have come to sit here alone? And she had been alone—no doubt about that—in the middle of the wet, murky forest. It made no sense, and unlike those other points of curiosity, I could hardly bring this up in casual conversation.

"So, Bella, I was following your scent through the woods after I left your room. Just some minor breaking and entering—no need for worry. I was exterminating spiders." Yes, that would be quite the icebreaker. I would never know what she'd been thinking and doing here, and that had my teeth grinding in frustration. Worse, this was far too much like the scenario I'd imagined for EMT—Bella wandering alone in the woods where her scent would call to anyone who had the sense to track it. I groaned. She didn't just have bad luck; she courted it. Well, for this moment, she had a protector. I would watch over her, keep her from harm for as long as I could justify it. I suddenly found myself wishing that Peter and Charlotte would make an extended stay.

Chapter 8: Ghost

I did not see much of Forks for the two sunny days that they were in Forks. I only went home at all so that Esme wouldn't worry; otherwise, my existence seemed like that of a spectre rather than a vampire. I hovered invisible in the shadows where I could follow the object of my love and obsession, where I could see her and hear her in the minds of the lucky humans who could walk through the sunlight beside her, sometimes accidentally brushing the back of her hand with their own. She never reacted to such contact; their hands were just as warm as hers. The enforced absence from school had never been a trial like this before, but the sun seemed to make her happy, so I could not resent it too much. Monday morning, I eavesdropped on a conversation that had the potential to destroy my confidence and make the time spent away from her truly torturous. As it ended up, though, it rather made my day. I had to feel some little respect for Mike Newton; he had more courage than I'd given him credit for. He had not simply given up and slunk away to nurse his wounds; he was going to try again.

Bella got to school quite early and, seeming intent on enjoying the sun while it lasted, sat on one of the seldom-used picnic benches while she waited for the first bell to ring. Her hair caught the sun in unexpected ways, giving off a reddish shine that I had not anticipated. Mike found her there, doodling again, and was thrilled at his good luck. It was agonizing only to be able to watch, powerless, bound to the forest shadows by the bright sunlight. She greeted him with enough enthusiasm to make him ecstatic and me the opposite.

"See, she likes me. She wouldn't smile like that if she didn't. I bet she wanted to go to the dance with me. Wonder what's so important in Seattle…" He perceived the change in her hair. "I never noticed before—your hair has red in it." I accidentally uprooted the young spruce tree my hand was resting on when he pinched a strand of her hair between his fingers.

"Only in the sun," she said, to my deep satisfaction. She cringed away from him slightly when he tucked the strand behind her ear. It took Mike a minute to build up his courage, wasting some time on small talk. She reminded him of the essay we all had due on Wednesday. From the faintly smug expression on her face, hers was already done. He'd forgotten altogether, and that severely diminished his free time. Finally, he got to the point. My teeth were clenched so hard they could have pulverized granite, and even then he couldn't make himself ask the question outright.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to go out…"

"Oh," she said. There was a brief silence. "Oh… what does that mean? Is she going to say yes? Wait… I guess I didn't really ask…" He swallowed hard. "Well, we could go to dinner or something, and I could work on it later." Stupid—that wasn't a question either. Mike… the agony and fury of my jealousy was every whit as powerful as it had been last week. I wanted so badly to race across the campus too fast for human eyes and snatch her up, to steal her away from the boy I hated so much. In this moment, I could have killed him for no reason but to enjoy it. Would she say yes to him?

"I don't think that would be the best idea," I breathed. My rigid body relaxed. Seattle was just an excuse, after all. "Shouldn't have asked… what was I thinking?"

"I bet it's that freak Cullen," he asked sullenly.

"I think…" she hesitated. "And if you ever repeat what I'm saying right now, I will cheerfully beat you to death."

I laughed out loud at the sound of a death threat coming through her lips. A jay shrieked, startled, and launched itself away from me.

"But I think that would hurt Jessica's feelings."

"Jessica? What? But… oh… okay… I guess… huh…" His thoughts were no longer coherent. Really?

"Mike, are you blind?" I echoed her sentiment. She shouldn't expect everyone to be as perceptive as she was, but really, this instance was beyond obvious. With as much trouble as Mike had had working himself up to ask Bella out, did he imagine it wasn't just as difficult for Jessica? It must be selfishness that made him blind to others, and Bella was so unselfish—she saw everything.

"Jessica? Huh… wow… huh… oh…" he managed to say. Bella used his confusion to make her exit. "It's time for class, and I can't be late again."

Mike became an unreliable viewpoint from then on. He found, as he turned the idea of Jessica around in his head, that he rather liked the thought of her finding him attractive. It was second place—not as good as if Bella had felt that way. "She's cute, though, I guess. Decent body. Bigger boobs than Bella's. A bird in the hand…" He was off then, on to new fantasies that were just as… as the ones about Bella, but now they only irritated rather than infuriated. How little he deserved either girl; they were almost interchangeable to him. I stayed clear of his head after that. When Bella was out of sight, I curled up against the cool trunk of an enormous madrone tree and danced from mind to mind, keeping her in view, always glad when Angela Weber was…

Available to look through. I wish there were some way to thank the Weber girl for simply being a nice person. It made me feel better to think that Bella had one friend worth having.

I watched Bella's face from whichever angle I was given, and I could see that she was upset about something. This surprised me. I thought the sun would be enough to keep her smiling. At lunch, I saw her glance time and time again toward the empty Cullen table, and that thrilled me; perhaps she missed me too.

After school, she had plans to go out with the other girls. I automatically planned my own surveillance, but these were postponed when Mike invited Jessica out on the date he designed for Bella, so I went straight to her home instead, doing a quick sweep of the woods to make sure no one dangerous had wandered too close. I knew Jasper had warned his one-time brother to avoid the town, citing my insanity as both explanation and danger, but I wasn't taking any chances. Peter and Charlotte had no intention of causing animosity with my family, but intentions were changeable things, all right. I was overdoing it; I knew that.

As if she was aware I was watching, as if she took pity on the agony I felt when I couldn't see her, Bella came out to the backyard after a long hour indoors. She had a book in her hand and a blanket under her arm. Silently, I climbed into the higher branches of the closest tree overlooking the yard. She spread the blanket on the damp grass and then lay on her stomach and started flipping through the worn, obviously often-read book, trying to find her place. I read over her shoulder: ah, more Classics. Sense and Sensibility. She was an Austen fan. I tasted the way the sunshine and the open air affected her scent; the heat seemed to sweeten the smell. My throat flamed with desire, the pain fresh and fierce again because I had been away from her for so long. I spent a moment controlling that, forcing myself to breathe through my nose. She read quickly, crossing and recrossing her ankles in the air. I knew the book, so I did not read along with her; instead, I was watching the sunlight and wind playing in her hair.

When her body suddenly stiffened and her hand froze on the page, she'd reached the last page of Chapter 2. The page began mid-sentence: "Perhaps, in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it impossible to have lived together so long." She grabbed a thick section of the book and shoved it roughly over, almost as if something on the page had angered her. But what? It was early in the story, just setting up the first conflict between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. The main hero, Edward Ferrars, was introduced; Eleanor Dashwood's merits were extolled. I thought through the previous chapter, searching for something potentially offensive in Austen's overly polite prose. What could have upset her? She stopped on the title page for Mansfield Park, beginning a new story. The book was a compilation of novels, but she'd only made it to page seven. I was following along this time. Mrs. Norris was detailing the danger of Tom and Edmund Bertram not encountering their cousin, Fanny Price, until they were all adults, when Bella's teeth ground together and she slammed the book shut, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. She tossed the book aside and rolled onto her back. She pushed her sleeves up, her forearms exposing more of her skin to the sun. Why would she have reacted thus to what was obviously a familiar story? Another mystery. I sighed.

She lay very still now, moving just once to yank her hair away from her face. It fanned out over her head, a river of chestnut, and then she was motionless again. She made a very serene picture there in the sunlight. Whatever peace had evaded her before seemed to find her now. Her breathing slowed. After several long minutes, her lips began to tremble, mumbling in her sleep. I felt an uncomfortable spasm of guilt because what I was doing now was not precisely good, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as my nightly pursuits. I wasn't technically even trespassing now; the base of this tree grew from the lot next door. Let alone doing something more…fun. But I knew that when night came, I would continue to do wrong. Wrong. Even now, part of me wanted to trespass, to jump to the ground, landing silently on my toes and ease into her circle of sunshine, just to be closer to her, to hear her murmured words as though she was whispering them to me. It wasn't my unreliable morality that held me back; it was the thought of myself in the sun's glare. Bad enough that my skin was stone and inhuman and shadow; I didn't want to look at Bella and myself side by side in the sunlight. The difference between us was already insurmountable, painful enough without that image also in my head. Could I be any more grotesque? I imagined her terror if she opened her eyes and saw me there beside her.

She moaned. I leaned back against the tree trunk, deeper into shadow. She sighed. "H…Edmund." I thought again of where she'd quit reading, just as Edmund Bertram had been named for the first time. Ha. She wasn't dreaming of me at all, I realized blackly. The self-loathing returned in force. She was dreaming of fictional characters. Perhaps that had always been the case, and all along her dreams had been filled with Hugh Grant in a cravat. So much for my conceit.

She said nothing more that was intelligible. The afternoon passed, and I watched, feeling helpless again as the sun slowly sank in the sky and the shadows crawled across the lawn toward her. I wanted to push them back, but of course, the darkness was inevitable. The shadows took her when the light was gone. Her skin looked too pale, ghostly; her hair was dark again, almost black against her face. It was a frightening thing to watch, like witnessing Alice's visions come to fruition. Bella's steady, strong heartbeat was the only reassurance, the sound that kept this moment from feeling like a nightmare.

I was relieved when her father arrived home. I could hear little from him as he drove down the street toward the house: some vague annoyance in the past, something from his day at work; expectation mixed with hunger, I guess, that he was looking forward to dinner, but his thoughts were so quiet and contained that I could not be sure I was right. I only got the gist of them. I wondered what her mother sounded like, what the genetic combination had been that formed her so uniquely.

Bella started awake, jerking up to a sitting position when the tires of her father's car hit the brick driveway. She stared around herself, seeming confused by the unexpected darkness. For one brief moment, her eyes touched the shadows where I hid, but then flickered quickly away. "Charlie," she asked in a low voice, still peering into the trees surrounding the small yard. The door of his car slammed shut, and she looked to the sound. She got to her feet quickly and gathered her things, casting one more look back toward the woods. I moved into a tree closer to the back window near the small kitchen and listened to their evening. It was interesting to compare Charlie's words to his muffled thoughts; his love and concern for his only child were nearly overwhelming, and yet his words were always curt and casual. Most of the time, they sat in companionable silence. I heard her discuss her plans to go shopping the following evening in Port Angeles with Jessica and Angela, and I refined my own plans as I listened. Jasper had not warned Peter and Charlotte to stay clear of Port Angeles, though I knew they had fed recently and had no intention of hunting anywhere in the vicinity of our home. I would watch her, just in case; after all, there were always others of my kind out there, and of course, all those human dangers that I had never much considered before now. I heard her worry aloud about leaving her father to prepare dinner alone and smiled at this proof of my theory: yes, she was the caretaker here too. And then I left, knowing I would return while she was asleep, ignoring every ethical and moral argument against my behavior, but I certainly would not trespass on her privacy the way a peeping Tom would have. I was here for her protection, not to leer at her in the way Mike Newton no doubt would, were he agile enough to move through the treetops. I would not treat her so crassly.

My house was empty when I returned, which was fine by me. I didn't miss the confused or disparaging thoughts questioning my sanity. EMT had left a note stuck to the new post: "Football at Ryan's field, come on, please." I found a pen and scrawled the word "sorry" beneath his plea. The teams were even without me, in any case. I went for the shortest of hunting trips, contenting myself with the smaller, gentler creatures that did not taste as good as the other predators, and then changed into fresh clothes before I ran back to Forks.

Bella did not sleep as well tonight. She thrashed in her blankets, her face sometimes worried, sometimes forlorn. I wondered what nightmare haunted her and then realized that perhaps I didn't really want to know. When she spoke, she mostly muttered derogatory things about Forks in a glum voice. Only once, when she sighed out the words "come back," and her hand twitched open in a wordless plea, did I have a chance to hope she might be dreaming of me.

The next day of school, the last day the sun would hold me prisoner, was much the same as the day before. Bella seemed even gloomier than yesterday, and I wondered if she would bow out of her plans. She didn't seem in the mood, but being Bella, she would probably put her friends' enjoyment above her own. She wore a deep blue blouse today, and the color set her skin off perfectly, making it look like fresh cream. School ended, and Jessica agreed to pick the other girls up. I went home to get my car when I found that Peter and Charlotte were there. I decided I could afford to give the girls an hour or so as a head start. It would have been a struggle to follow them driving at the speed limit. Hideous thought. Everyone was gathered in the bright, great room. Peter and Charlotte both noticed my abstraction as I belatedly welcomed them, apologizing half-heartedly for my absence, kissing her cheek and shaking his hand. I was unable to concentrate enough to join the group conversation. As soon as I could politely extricate myself, I drifted to the piano and began playing quietly.

"What a strange creature the Alice-sized white blonde Charlotte is," thinking, and he was so normal and pleasant the last time we met. Peter's thoughts were in sync with hers, as was usually the case. "It must be the animals; the lack of human blood drives them mad eventually," he was concluding. His hair was just as fair as hers and almost as long. They were very similar, except for size, as he was nearly as tall as EMT; a well-matched pair, I always thought. "Why even bother coming home?" Rosalie sneered. "Ah, Edward, I hate to see him suffering so." Esme's joy was becoming corrupted by her concern. "She should be concerned; this love story she envisioned for me was careening toward tragedy more perceptibly every moment." "Have fun in Port Angeles tonight," Alice thought cheerfully. "Let me know when I'm allowed to talk to Bella." "You're pathetic. I can't believe you missed the game last night just to watch somebody sleep," EMT grumbled. Everyone but Esme stopped thinking about me after a moment, and I kept my playing subdued so that I would not attract notice. I did not pay attention to them for a long while, just letting the music distract me from my unease. It was never not distressing to have the girl out of sight. I only returned my focus to their conversation when the goodbyes grew more final.

"If you see Maria again," Jasper was saying a little wearily, "tell her I wish her well." Maria was the vampire who had created both Jasper and Peter: Jasper in the latter half of the 19th century, Peter more recently in the 1940s. She'd looked Jasper up once when we were in Calgary; it had been an eventful visit; we'd had to move immediately. Jasper had politely asked her to keep her distance in the future. "I don't imagine we'll cross paths soon," Peter said with a laugh. Maria was undeniably dangerous, and there was not much love lost between her and Peter. Peter had, after all, been instrumental in Jasper's defection. Jasper had always been Maria's favorite; she considered it a minor detail that she had once planned to kill him. "But should it happen, I certainly will." They were shaking hands then, preparing to depart. I let the song I was playing trail off to an unsatisfying end and got hastily to my feet.

"Charlotte, Peter," I said, nodding. "It was nice to see you again." "Edward," Charlotte said doubtfully. Peter just nodded in return. "Madman," EMT threw after me. "Idiot," Rosalie thought at the same time. "Poor boy," Esme and Alice in a chiding tone. "They're going straight east to Seattle; nowhere near Port Angeles," she showed me the proof in her vision. I pretended I hadn't heard that; my excuses were already flimsy enough.

Once in my car, I felt more relaxed. The robust purr of the engine Rosalie had boosted for me last year when she was in a better mood was soothing. It was a relief to be in motion, to know that I was getting closer to Bella with every mile that flew away under my tires.

Chapter N: Port Angeles. It was too bright for me to drive into town. When I got to Port Angeles, the sun was still high overhead, and though my windows were tinted dark enough to provide some protection, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks—more unnecessary risks, I should say. How condescendingly I had once judged EMT for his thoughtless ways and Jasper for his lack of discipline, and now I was consciously flouting all the rules with a wild abandon that made their lapses look like nothing at all. I used to be the responsible one. I sighed. I was certain I would be able to find Jessica's thoughts from a distance; hers were louder than Angela's, but once I found the first, I'd be able to hear the second. Then, when the shadows lengthened, I could get closer. Just outside the town, I pulled off the road onto an overgrown driveway that appeared to be infrequently used. I knew the general direction to search in; there were not many places to shop for dresses in Port Angeles. It wasn't long before I found Jessica spinning in front of a three-way mirror, and I could see Bella in her peripheral vision, appraising the long black dress she wore.

"Bella still looks pissed," Angela was right. "Tyler was full of it. I can't believe she's so upset about it, though. At least she knows she has a backup date for the prom." "What if Mike doesn't have fun at the dance and doesn't ask me out?" "What if he asks Bella to the prom? Does he think she's prettier than me? Does she think she's prettier than me?" "I think I like the blue one better; it really brings out your eyes," Jessica smiled at Bella with false warmth while eyeing her suspiciously. "Does she really think that, or does she want me to look like a cow on Saturday?" I was already tired of listening to Jessica. I searched close by for Angela, ah, but Angela was in the process of changing dresses, and I skipped quickly out of her head to give her some privacy. Well, there wasn't much trouble Bella could get into in a department store. I'd let them shop and then catch up with them when they were done. It wouldn't be long until dark; the clouds were beginning to return, drifting in from the west. I could only catch glimpses of them through the thick trees, but I could see how they would hurry the sunset. I welcomed them, craved them more than I had ever yearned for their shadows before. Tomorrow, I could sit beside Bella in school again, monopolize her attention at lunch; I could ask her all the questions I'd been saving up.

So she was furious about Tyler's presumption. I'd seen that in his head—that he'd meant it literally when he'd spoken of the prom, that he was staking a claim. I pictured her expression from that other afternoon—the outraged disbelief—and laughed. I wondered what she would say to him about this, or perhaps she was more likely to pretend ignorant, to bluff and hope it would put him off. It would be interesting to see.

The time went slowly while I waited for the shadows to lengthen. I checked in periodically with Jessica; her mental voice was the easiest to find, but I didn't like to linger there long. I saw the place they were planning to eat; it would be dark by dinnertime. Maybe I would coincidentally choose the same restaurant. I touched the phone in my pocket, thinking of inviting Alice out to join me. She would love that, but she would also want to talk to Bella. I wasn't sure if I was ready to have Bella more involved with my world. Wasn't one vampire trouble enough?

I checked in routinely with Jessica again. She was thinking about her jewelry, asking Angela's opinion. "Maybe I should take the necklace back. I've got one at home that would probably work, and I spent more than I was supposed to. My mom is going to freak out. What was I thinking? I don't mind going back to the store. Do you think Bella will be looking for us though?" What was this? Bella wasn't with them. I stared through Jessica's eyes first, then switched to Angela. They were on the sidewalk in front of a line of shops, just turning back the other way. Bella was nowhere in sight. "Oh, who cares about Bella," Jess thought impatiently before answering Angela's question. "She's fine; we'll get to the restaurant in plenty of time even if we go back anyway. I think she wanted to be alone." I got a brief glimpse of the bookshop just…I'd thought Bella had gone to—let's hurry. Then Angela said, "I hope Bella doesn't think we ditched her. She was so nice to me in the car before, but she seemed kind of blue all day. I wonder if it's because of Edward Cullen. I'll bet that's why she was asking about his family." I should have been paying better attention. What had I missed here? Bella was off wandering by herself, and she'd been asking about me. Angela was paying attention to Jessica now; Jessica was babbling about that imbecile Mike, and I could get nothing more from her.

I judged the shadows; the sun would be behind the clouds soon enough. If I stayed on the west side of the road where the buildings would shade the street from the fading light… I started to feel anxious as I drove through the sparse traffic into the center of town. This wasn't something I had considered: Bella setting off on her own, and I had no idea how to find her. I should have considered it. I knew Port Angeles well. I drove straight to the bookstore in Jessica's head, hoping my search would be short, but doubting it would be so easy. When did Bella ever make it easy? Sure enough, the little shop was empty except for the anachronistically dressed woman behind the counter. This didn't look like the kind of place Bella would find interesting—too new age for a practical person. I wondered if she had even bothered to go inside. There was a patch of shade I could park in; it made a dark pathway right up to the awning of the shop. I really shouldn't; wandering around in the sunlit hours was not safe. What if a passing car threw the sun's reflection on me at just the wrong moment? But I didn't know how else to look for Bella. I parked and got out, keeping to the side of deepest shadow. I strode quickly into the store, noting the faint trace of Bella's scent in the air. She had been here, on the sidewalk, but there was no hint of her fragrance inside the shop.

"Welcome. Can I help you?" the saleswoman began to say, but I was already out the door. I followed Bella's scent as far as the shade would allow, stopping when I got to the edge of the sunlight. How powerless it made me feel, fenced in by the line between dark and light that stretched across the sidewalk in front of me. I could only guess that she'd continued across the street, heading south. There wasn't really much in that direction. Was she lost? Well, that possibility didn't sound entirely out of character. I got back in the car and drove slowly through the streets, looking for her. I stepped out into a few other patches of shadow, but only caught her scent once more, and the direction of it confused me. Where was she trying to go? I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the restaurant a few times, hoping to see her on her way. Jessica and Angela were already there, trying to decide whether to order or to wait for Bella. Jessica was pushing for ordering immediately. I began flitting through the minds of strangers, looking through their eyes; surely someone must have seen her somewhere. I got more and more anxious the longer she remained missing. I'd not considered before how difficult she might prove to find, once, like now, she was out of my sight and off her normal paths. The clouds were massing on the horizon, and in a few more minutes, I would be free to track her on foot. It wouldn't take me long then; it was only the sun that made me so helpless now. Just a few more minutes, and then the advantage would be mine again, and it would be the human world that was powerless.

Another mind and another—so many trivial thoughts—"Think the baby has another ear infection," "Was it 640 or 604?" "Late again. I ought to tell him." Aha. Here she comes. There at last was her face. Finally, someone had noticed her. The relief lasted for only a fraction of a second, and then I read more fully the thoughts of the man who was gloating over her face, where she hesitated in the shadows. His mind was a stranger to me, and yet not totally unfamiliar. I had once hunted exactly such minds. No! I roared, and a volley of snarls erupted from my throat. My foot shoved the gas pedal to the floor, but where was I going? I knew the general direction his thoughts came from, but the location was not specific enough. Something there—had to be something—a street sign, a storefront, something in his sight line that would give him away. But Bella was deep in shadow, and his eyes were focused only on her frightened expression, enjoying the fear there. Her face was blurred in his mind by the memory of other faces. Bella was not his first victim. The sound of my growls shook the frame of the car, but it did not distract me. There were no windows in the wall behind her, somewhere industrial, away from the more populated shopping district. My car squealed around a corner, swerving past another vehicle heading in what I hoped was the right direction. By the time the other driver honked, the sound was far behind me.

"Look at her shaking," the man chuckled in anticipation. The fear was the draw for him, the part he enjoyed. "Stay away from me," her voice was low and steady, not a scream. "Don't be like that, sugar," he watched her flinch at a rowdy laugh that came from another direction. He was irritated with the noise. "Shut up, Jeff," he thought, but he enjoyed the way she cringed; it excited him. He began to imagine her pleas, the way she would beg. I hadn't realized that there were others with him until I'd heard the loud laughter. I scanned out from him, desperate for something that I could use. He was taking the first step in her direction, flexing his hands. The minds around him were not the cesspool that his was; they were all slightly intoxicated, not one of them realizing how far the man they called Lanny planned to go with this. They were blindly following Lanny's lead; he promised them a little fun. One of them glanced down the street, nervous; he didn't want to get caught harassing the girl, and gave me what I needed. I recognized the cross street he stared toward. I flew under a red light, sliding through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me. My phone vibrated in my pocket; I ignored it. Lanny moved slowly toward the girl, drawing out the suspense, the moment of terror that aroused him. He waited for her scream, preparing to savor it, but Bella locked her jaw and braced herself. He was surprised; he'd expected her to try to run—surprised and slightly disappointed. He liked to chase his prey down, feel the adrenaline of the hunt. "Brave, this one. Maybe better. I guess more fight in her." I was a block away. The fiend.

Could hear the roar of my engine now, but he paid it no attention, too intent on his victim. I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the prey. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting. In another compartment of my head, I was already sorting through the horrors I'd borne witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most painful of them. I had never tortured my prey, no matter how much they had deserved it, but this man was different. He would suffer for this; he would rise in agony. The others would merely die for their part, but this creature named Lanny would beg for death long before I would give him that gift.

He was in the road, crossing toward her. I spun sharply around the corner, my headlights washing across the scene and freezing the rest of them in place. I could have run down the leader, who leaped out of the way, but that was too easy a death for him. I let the car spin out, swinging all the way around so that I was facing back the way I'd come, and the passenger door was closest to Bella. I threw that open, and she was already running toward the car.

"K," I snarled. "What the hell. I knew this was a bad idea. She's not alone. Should I run? Think I'm going to throw up."

Bella jumped through the open door without hesitating, pulling it shut behind her, and then she looked up at me with the most trusting expression I had ever seen on a human face, and all my violent plans crumbled. It took much, much less than a second for me to see that I could not leave her in the car in order to deal with the four men in the street. What would I tell her? Not to watch, ha? When did she ever do what I asked? Would I drag them away, out of her sight, and leave her alone here? It was a long shot that another psychopath would be prowling the streets of Port Angeles tonight, but it was a long shot that there was even a first. Here was proof positive that I was not insane. Like a magnet, she drew all things dangerous toward herself. If I were not close enough to provide it, some other evil would take my place. It would feel like part of the same motion to her as I accelerated, taking her away from her pursuers so quickly that they gaped after my car with uncomprehending expressions. She would not recognize my instant of hesitation. I couldn't even hit him—him—with my car; that would frighten her.

I wanted his death so savagely that the need for it rang in my ears, clouded my sight, and was a bitter flavor on my tongue, stronger than the burn of my thirst. My muscles were coiled with the urgency, the craving, the necessity of it. I had to kill him. I would peel him slowly apart, piece by piece, skin from muscle, muscle from bone. Except that the girl, the only girl in the world, was clinging to her seat with both hands, staring at me, her eyes strangely calm and unquestioning. Vengeance would have to wait.

"Put on your seat belt," I ordered. My voice was rough with the hate and blood lust—not the usual blood lust. I had long been committed to abstaining from human blood, and I would not let this creature change that. This would be retribution only.

She locked the seat belt into place, jumping slightly at the sound it made. That little noise made her jump, yet she did not flinch as I tore through the town, ignoring all traffic guides. I could feel her eyes on me; she seemed oddly relaxed. It didn't make sense, not with what had just happened to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice was rough with stress and fear. She wanted to know if I was okay. Was I okay? No, I realized, and my tone seethed with rage.

I took her to the same unused drive where I'd spent the afternoon engaged in the poorest surveillance ever kept. It was black now, under the trees. I was so furious that my body froze in place there, utterly motionless. My ice-locked hands ached to crush her attacker, to grind him into pieces so mangled that his body could never be identified, but that would entail leaving her here alone, unprotected, in the dark night.

My mind was replaying scenes from my hunting days, images I wished I could forget, especially now with the urge to kill so much stronger than any hunting compulsion I'd ever felt before. This man, this abomination, was not the worst of his kind, though it was difficult to sort the depths of evil into a merit-based order. Still, I remembered the very worst; there had never been any question that he deserved that title. Most of the men I'd hunted back in my days of acting as judge, jury, and executioner had felt some level of remorse, or at least fear of being caught. Many of them turned to alcohol or drugs to silence their worries; others compartmentalized, created fractures in their personalities, and lived as two men, one for the light and one for the dark. But for the worst, the very worst aberration I'd ever encountered, remorse was not an issue. I'd never found anyone who embraced his own evil so thoroughly, who enjoyed it. He was utterly delighted by the world he'd created, a world of helpless victims and their tortured screams. Pain was the object of all his pursuits, and he'd gotten very good at creating it, at prolonging it.

I was committed to my rules, to my justification for all the blood I claimed, but in this instance, I wavered. To let this particular man die swiftly seemed far too easy an escape for him. It was the closest I ever came to crossing that line. Still, I killed him as quickly and efficiently as I killed all the rest. It might have gone differently if two of his victims had not been in that basement of horrors when I discovered him—two young women already badly injured. Though I carried them both to a hospital at the greatest speed I was capable of, only one survived. I hadn't had time to drink his blood; that didn't matter. There were so many others who deserved to die like this—Lanny, he was an atrocity too, but surely not worse than the one I'd remembered. Why did it feel right then, imperative, that he suffer so much more?

"But first Bella," I asked through my teeth.

"Yes," she responded huskily. She cleared her throat. "Are you all right?" That was really the most important thing, the first priority. Retribution was secondary. I knew that, but my body was so filled with rage that it was hard to think.

"Yes," her voice was still thick with fear, no doubt, and so I could not leave her, even if she wasn't at constant risk. For some infuriating reason, some joke the universe was playing on me, even if I could be sure that she would be perfectly safe in my absence, I could not leave her alone in the dark. She must be so frightened, yet I was in no condition to comfort her, even if I knew exactly how that was to be accomplished, which I did not. Surely she could feel the brutality radiating out of me; surely that much was obvious. I would frighten her even more if I could not calm the lust for slaughter boiling inside me.

"I need to think about something else," I pleaded. "Distract me, please."

"I'm sorry," what? I barely had enough control to try to explain what I needed, just—I couldn't think of how to express it. I picked the closest word I could think of.

"Prattle about something unimportant until I calmed down." It was a poor word choice, I realized as soon as it was out, but I couldn't find much room to care. Only the fact that she needed me held me inside the car. I could hear the man's thoughts, his disappointment and anger. I knew where to find him. I closed my eyes, wishing that I couldn't see anyway.

"Um," she hesitated, trying to make sense of my request. I imagined, or perhaps offended, then she continued. "I'm going to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school," she said this like it was a question. Yes, this was what I needed. Of course, Bella would come up with something unexpected, as it had been before. The threat of violence coming through her lips was jarring, comical if I had not been burning with the urge to kill. I would have laughed.

"Why?" I barked out to force her to speak again.

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom," she said, her voice filled with outrage. "Either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last—well, you remember it," she inserted dryly, "and he thinks prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep trying to make amends. I don't need enemies, and maybe Lauren would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his censure though," she went on, thoughtful now. "If he doesn't have a ride, he can't take anyone to prom."

It was encouraging to see that she sometimes got things wrong. Tyler's persistence had nothing to do with the accident. She didn't seem to understand the appeal she held for the human boys at the high school. Did she not see the appeal she had for me? I—ah—it was working. The baffling processes of her mind were always engrossing. I was beginning to gain control of myself, to see something beyond vengeance and slaughter.

"I heard about that," I told her. She had stopped talking, and I needed her to continue.

"You did?" she asked incredulously, and then her voice was angrier than before. "If he's paralyzed from the neck down, he can't go to the prom either." I wish there was some way I could ask her to continue with the threats of death and bodily harm without sounding insane. She couldn't have picked a better way to calm me, and her words—just sarcasm in her case, hyperbole—were a reminder I dearly needed in this moment.

I sighed and opened my eyes.

"Better?" she asked timidly.

"Not really," no, I was calmer, but not better, because I just realized that I could not kill the fiend named Lanny. The only thing in this moment that I wanted more than to commit a highly justifiable murder was this girl, and though I couldn't have her, just the dream of having her made it impossible for me to go on a killing spree tonight. Bella deserved better than a killer. I'd spent more than seven decades trying to be something, anything, other than a killer. Those years of effort could never make me worthy of the girl sitting beside me, and yet I felt that if I returned to that life for even one night, I would surely put her out of my reach forever. Even if I didn't drink their blood, even if I didn't have that evidence blazing red in my eyes, wouldn't she sense the difference? I was trying to be good enough for her. It was an impossible goal, but I couldn't bear the thought of giving up.

"What's wrong?" she whispered. Her scent filled my nose, and I was reminded why I could not deserve her, after all this. Even as much as I loved her, she still made my mouth water. I would give her as much honesty as I could; I owed her that.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bella." I stared out into the black night, wishing both that she would hear the horror inherent in my words and that she would not—mostly that she would not run. Bella, run. Stay, Bella, stay. But it wouldn't be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those—just thinking about it almost pulled me from the car. I took a deep breath, letting her scent scorch down my throat. "At least that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh," she said nothing else. How much had she understood? I glanced at her furtively, but her face was unreadable, blank with shock, perhaps. Well, she wasn't screaming in horror, not yet.

"Jessica and Angela will be worried," she said quietly. Her voice was very calm, and I was not sure how that could be. Was she in shock? Maybe tonight's events hadn't sunk in for her yet. I was supposed to meet them. Did she want to be away from me, or was she just concerned about her friends' worry?

I didn't answer her but started the car and took her back. The nearer I got to the town, the harder it was to hold on to my purpose. I was just so close to him. If it was impossible, if I could never belong to nor deserve this girl, then where was the—the sense in letting the man go unpunished? Surely I could allow myself that much. No, I wasn't giving up, not yet. I wanted her too much to surrender.

We were at the restaurant where she was supposed to meet her friends before I'd even begun to make sense of my thoughts. Jessica and Angela were finished eating and both now truly worried about Bella. They were on their way to search for her, heading off along the dark street. It was not a good night for them to be wandering.

"How did you know where—" Bella's unfinished question interrupted me, and I realized that I had made yet another gaffe. I'd been too distracted to remember to ask her where she was supposed to meet her friends. But instead of finishing the inquiry and pressing the point, Bella just shook her head and half smiled. What did that mean? Well, I didn't have time to puzzle over her strange acceptance of my stranger knowledge. I opened my door.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding startled.

"Not letting you out of my sight. Not allowing myself to be alone tonight. In that order. I'm taking you to dinner." Well, this should be interesting. It seemed like another night entirely when I'd imagined bringing Alice along and pretending to choose the same restaurant as Bella and her friends by accident, and now here I was, practically on a date with the girl, only it didn't count because I wasn't giving her a chance to say no. She already had her door half open before I'd walked around the car. It wasn't usually so frustrating to have to move at an inconspicuous speed instead of allowing me to get it for her. I waited for her to join me, getting more anxious as her girlfriends continued toward the dark corner.

"Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down too," I ordered quickly. "I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friend again. No, I would not be strong enough for that."

She shuddered and then quickly collected herself. She took half a step after them, calling, "Jess, Angela," in a loud voice. They turned, and she waved her arm over her head to catch their attention.

"Bella! Oh, she's safe," Angela thought with relief. "Late much," Jessica grumbled to herself, but she too was thankful that Bella wasn't lost or hurt. This made me like her a little more than I had. They hurried back and then stopped, shocked when they saw me beside her.

"Uh—uh," Jessica thought, stunned. "No freaking way. Edward Cullen." Did she go away by herself to find him? But why would she ask about them being out of town if she knew he was here? I got a brief flash of Bella's mortified expression when she'd asked Angela if my family was often absent from school. No, she couldn't have known, Angela decided. Jessica's thoughts were moving past the surprise and on to suspicion.

"Bella's been holding out on me. Where have you been?" she demanded, staring at Bella but peeking at me from the corner of her eye.

"I got lost, and then I ran into Edward," Bella said, waving one hand toward me. Her tone was remarkably normal, as though that were truly all that had happened. She must be in shock; that was the only explanation for her calm.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" I asked, to be polite. I knew they'd already eaten.

"Holy crap, but he's hot," Jessica thought, her head suddenly slightly incoherent. Angela wasn't much more composed. Wish we hadn't eaten. Wow, just wow. Now why couldn't I do that to Bella?

"Uh, sure," Jessica agreed. Angela frowned.

"Um, actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting," she admitted.

"Sorry,"

"Shut up," Jessica complained internally. Bella shrugged casually, so at ease, definitely in shock.

"That's fine. I'm not hungry."

"I think you should eat something," I disagreed. She needed sugar in her bloodstream, though it smelled sweet enough as it was. I thought. Riley, the horror was going to come crashing down on her momentarily, and an empty stomach wouldn't help. She was an easy fainter, as I knew from experience. These girls wouldn't be in any danger if they went straight home; danger didn't stalk there every step, and I'd rather be alone with Bella as long as she was willing to be alone with me.

"Do you mind if I drive Bella home tonight?" I said to Jessica before Bella could respond. "That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess." Jessica stared intently at Bella, looking for some sign that this was what she wanted. She probably wants him to herself; who wouldn't? Jess thought at the same time she watched Bella wink.

"Bella winked,"

"Okay," Angela said quickly, in a hurry to be out of the way if that was what Bella wanted, and it seemed that she did want that. "See you tomorrow, Bella, Edward." She struggled to say my name in a casual tone, then she grabbed Jessica's hand and began towing her away. I would find some way to thank Angela for this. Jessica's car was close by, in a bright circle of light cast by a street lamp. Bella watched them carefully, a little crease of concern between her eyes, until they were in the car. So she must be somewhat aware of the danger she'd been in. Jessica waved as she drove away, and Bella waved back. It wasn't until the car disappeared that she took a deep breath and turned to look up at me.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry," she said. Why had she waited for them to be gone before speaking? Did she truly want to be alone with me, even now after witnessing my literal homicidal rage? Whether or not that was the case, she was going to eat something.

"Humor me," I said. I held the restaurant door open for her and waited. She sighed and walked through. I walked beside her to the podium where the hostess waited. Bella still seemed entirely self-possessed. I wanted to touch her hand, her forehead, to check her temperature, but my cold hand would repulse her, as it had before.

"Oh my," the hostess's rather loud mental voice intruded into my consciousness. "My oh my." It seemed to be my night to turn heads, or was I only noticing it more because I wished so much that Bella would see me this way. We were always attractive to our prey, but I'd never thought so much about it before, usually unless, as with people like Shelly, Cop, and Jessica Stanley, there was constant repetition to—dll—the horror, the fear kicked in fairly quickly after the initial attraction.

"A table for two," I prompted when the hostess didn't speak.

"What a voice. Oh, uh, yes. Welcome to LaBella Italia. Please follow me." Her thoughts were preoccupied, calculating. Maybe she's his cousin. She couldn't be his sister; they don't look anything alike, but family definitely. He can't be with her. Human eyes were clouded; they saw nothing clearly. How could this small-minded woman find my physical lures, snares for prey, so attractive and yet be unable to see the soft perfection of the girl beside me? Well, no need to help her out, just in case, the hostess thought as she led us to a family-sized table in the middle of the most crowded part of the restaurant.

"Can I give him my number while she's there?" she mused. I pulled a bill from my back pocket; people were invariably cooperative when money was involved. Bella was already taking the seat the hostess indicated without objection. I shook my head at her, and she hesitated, cocking her head to one side with curiosity. Yes, she would be very curious tonight. A crowd was not the ideal place for this conversation; perhaps something more private. I requested of the hostess, handing her the money. She started, surprised, and then her hand curled around the tip.

"Sure," she peeked at the bill while she led us around the dividing wall. "$50 for a better table. Rich, too. That makes sense. I bet his jacket cost more than my last paycheck. Damn, why does he want privacy with her?" She offered us a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant where no one would be able to see us—to see Bella's reactions to whatever I would tell her. I had no clue as to what she would want from me tonight, or what I would give her. How much had she guessed? What explanation of tonight's events had she invented to make sense of it all?

"How's this?" the hostess asked.

"Perfect," I told her, and feeling slightly annoyed by her resentful attitude toward Bella, smiled widely at her, bearing my teeth. Let her see me clearly.

"Whoa," um, your server will be right out. He can't be real. Maybe she'll disappear. Maybe I'll write my number on his plate with marinara. She wandered away, listing slightly to the side. Odd, she still wasn't frightened. I suddenly remembered EMT teasing me in the cafeteria so many weeks ago. All bet I could have frightened her better than that. Was I losing my edge?

"You really shouldn't do that to people," Bella interrupted my thoughts in a disapproving tone.

"It's hardly fair," I stared at her critical expression. What did she mean? I hadn't frightened the hostess at all, despite my intentions.

"Do what? Dazzle them like that? She's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now," Bella was very nearly right; the hostess was only semicoherent at the moment, describing her incorrect assessment of me to her friend on the wait staff.

"Oh, come on," Bella chided me when I didn't answer immediately. "You have to know the effect you have on people. I dazzle people." That was an interesting way of phrasing it, accurate enough for tonight. I wondered why the difference.

"You haven't noticed?" she asked, still critical. "Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

"Do I dazzle you?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, and then the words were out, and it was too late to recall them. But before I had time to regret too deeply speaking the words aloud, she answered.

"Frequently," and her cheeks took on a faint pink glow. I dazzled her. My silent heart swelled with a hope more intense than I could ever remember having felt before.

"Hello," someone said—the waitress, introducing herself. Her thoughts were loud and more explicit than the hostesses', but I tuned her out. I stared at Bella instead, watching the blood spreading across her cheekbones, noticing not how that made my throat flame, but rather how it brightened her fair face, how it set off the cream of her skin. The waitress was waiting for something from me.

"Ah," she'd asked for our drink order. I continued to gaze at Bella, and the waitress grudgingly turned to look at her too.

"I'll have a Coke," Bella said, as if asking for approval.

"Two Cokes," I amended. Thirst—normal human thirst—was a sign of shock. I would make sure she had extra sugar from the soda in her system. She looked healthy, though—more than healthy; she looked radiant.

"What?" she demanded, wondering why I was staring. I guessed I was vaguely aware that the waitress had left.

"How are you feeling?" I asked. She blinked, surprised by the question.

"I'm fine."

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold?" She was even more confused now. Should I—well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock. I half smiled, expecting her denial. She would not want to be taken care of. It took her a moment to answer me; her eyes were slightly unfocused. She looked that way sometimes when I smiled at her. Was she dazzled? I would have loved to believe that.

"I don't think that will happen. I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things," she answered, a little breathless. Did she have a lot of practice with unpleasant things, then? Was her life always this hazardous?

"Just the same," I told her. "I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

The waitress returned with the Cokes and a basket of bread. She put them in front of me and asked—asked for my order, trying to catch my eye in the process. I indicated that she should attend to Bella and then went back to tuning her out. She had a vulgar mind.

"Um," Bella glanced quickly at the menu. "I'll have the mushroom ravioli." The waitress turned back to me eagerly. "And you?"

"Nothing for me." Bella made a slight face. H. She must have noticed that I never ate food. She noticed everything, and I always forgot to be careful around her. I waited till we were alone again.

"Drink," I insisted. I was surprised when she complied immediately and without objection. She drank until the glass was entirely empty, so I pushed the second Coke toward her, frowning a little. Thirst, or shock? She drank a little more and then shuddered once.

"Are you cold?" It's just the—

Coke," she said, but shivered again, her lips trembling slightly as if her teeth were about to chatter. The pretty blouse she wore looked too thin to protect her adequately; it clung to her like a second skin, almost as fragile as the first.

"Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yes," she looked around herself, a little perplexed. "Oh, I left it in Jessica's car."

I pulled off my jacket, wishing that the gesture was not marred by my body temperature. It would have been nice to offer her a warm coat. She stared at me, her cheeks flushing again. What was she thinking now? I handed her the jacket across the table, and she put it on at once, and then shuddered again.

"Yes, it would be very nice to be warm. Thanks," she said. She took a deep breath and then pushed the two long sleeves back to free her hands. She took another deep breath. Was the evening finally settling in? Her color was still good; her skin was cream and roses against the deep blue of her shirt.

"That color blue looks lovely with your skin," I complimented her, just being honest. She looked well, but there was no point in taking chances. I pushed the basket of bread toward her.

"Really," she objected, guessing my motives. "I'm not going into shock. You should be a normal person; would be you don't even look shaken."

I stared at her disapprovingly, wondering why she couldn't be normal, and then wondering whether I really wanted her to be that way.

"I feel very safe with you," she explained, her eyes again filled with trust. Trust I didn't deserve. Her instincts were all wrong, backward; that must be the problem. She didn't recognize danger the way a human being should be able to. She had the opposite reaction; instead of running, she lingered, drawn to what should frighten her. How could I protect her from my myself when neither of us wanted that?

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," I murmured. I could see her turning my words over in her head, and I wondered what she made of them. She took a bread stick and began to eat without seeming aware of the action. She chewed for a moment and then leaned her head to one side thoughtfully.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," she said in a casual tone. Her observation, stated so matter-of-factly, left me reeling. "What you're always crabby when your eyes are black. I expect it then. I have a theory about that," she added lightly.

So she had come up with her own explanation; of course, she had. I felt a deep sense of dread as I wondered how close she'd come to the truth.

"More theories? Mhm," she chewed on another bite, entirely nonchalant, as if she were discussing the aspects of a demon with the demon himself.

"I hope you were more creative this time," I lied when she didn't continue. What I really hoped was that she was wrong, miles wide of the mark.

"Or are you still stealing from comic books?"

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book," she said, a little embarrassed. "But I didn't come up with it on my own either."

I asked, between my teeth, surely she would not speak so calmly if she were about to scream. As she hesitated, biting her lip, the waitress reappeared with Bella's food. I paid the server little attention as she set the plate in front of Bella and then asked if I wanted anything. I declined but asked for more coke. The waitress hadn't noticed the empty glasses.

"You were saying," I prompted anxiously as soon as Bella and I were alone again.

"I'll tell you about it in the car," she said in a low voice. Ah, this would be bad. She wasn't willing to speak her guesses around others.

"If she tacked on suddenly, there are conditions," I was so tense I almost growled the words.

"I do have a few questions,"

"Of course, of course," I agreed, my voice hard. Her questions would probably be enough to tell me where her thoughts were heading, but how would I answer them? With responsible lies? Or would I drive her away with the truth? Or would I say nothing? Unable to decide, we sat in silence while the waitress replenished her supply of soda.

"Well, go ahead," I said, jaw locked, when she was gone.

"Why are you in Port Angeles?" That was too easy a question for her; it gave away nothing, while my answer, if truthful, would give away much, much too much. Let her reveal something first.

"Next," I said.

"But that's the easiest one,"

"Next," I said again. She was frustrated by my refusal. She looked away from me, down at her food, slowly thinking hard. She took a bite and chewed with deliberation. Suddenly, as she ate, a strange comparison entered my head; for just a second I saw Persephone, pomegranate in hand, dooming herself to the underworld. Is that who I was? Hades himself, coveting springtime, stealing it, condemning it to endless night? I tried unsuccessfully to shake the impression. She washed her bite down with more coke and then finally looked up at me. Her eyes were narrow with suspicion.

"Okay then," she said. "Let's say, hypothetically, of course, that someone could know what people are thinking—read minds, you know—with a few exceptions. It could be worse." This explained that little half smile in the car. She was quick; no one else had ever guessed this about me except for Carlile, and it had been rather obvious then, in the beginning, when I'd answered all his thoughts as if he'd spoken them to me. He'd understood before I had. This question wasn't so bad; while it was clear that she knew there was something wrong with me, it was not as serious as it could have been. Mind reading was, after all, not a facet of vampire canon. I went along with her hypothesis.

"Just one exception," I corrected.

"Hypothetically," she fought a smile. My vague honesty pleased her. "All right, with one exception. Then how does that work? What are the limitations? How would that someone find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know that she was in trouble, hypothetically?"

"Sure," her lips twitched, and her liquid brown eyes were eager.

"Well," I hesitated. "If that's someone—let's call him Joe," she suggested. I had to smile at her enthusiasm. Did she really think the truth would be a good thing? If my secrets were pleasant, why would I keep them from her?

"Joe, then," I agreed. "If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I shook my head and repressed a shudder at the thought of how close I had been to being too late today.

"Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know," her lips turned down at the corners and pouted. We were speaking of a hypothetical case. I laughed at her irritation. Her lips, her skin, they looked so soft. I wanted to see if they were as soft as they appeared. Impossible. My touch would be repellent to her.

"Yes, we were," I said, returning to the conversation before I could depress myself too thoroughly.

"Shall we call you Jane?" She leaned across the table toward me, all humor and irritation gone from her expression.

"How did you know?" she asked, her voice low and intense. Should I tell her the truth? And if so, what portion? I wanted to tell her; I wanted to deserve the trust I could still see on her face, as if she could hear my thoughts.

She whispered, "You can trust me, you know." She reached one hand forward, as if to touch my hands where they rested on top of the empty table before me. I pulled them back, hating the thought of her reaction to my frigid, stone skin, and she dropped her hand. I knew that I could trust her with protecting my secrets; she was entirely honorable, good to the core, but I couldn't trust her not to be horrified by them. She should be horrified; the truth was horror.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore," I murmured. I remembered that I'd once teased her by calling her exceptionally unobservant; offended her, if I'd been judging her expressions correctly. Well, I could write that one injustice off, at least. I was wrong.

"You're much more observant than I gave you credit for," and though she might not realize it, I'd given her plenty of credit already.

"I thought you were always right," she said, smiling as she teased me.

"I used to be. I used to know what I was doing. I used to be always sure of my course, and now everything was chaos and tumult. Yet I wouldn't trade it; not if the chaos meant that I could be near Bella."

"I was wrong about you on one other thing as well," I went on, setting the record straight on a second point. "You're not a magnet for accidents; that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a 10-meter radius, it will invariably find you."

"Why?" Her what had she done to deserve any of this? Bella's face turned serious again. "And you put yourself into that category." Honesty was more important in regard to this question than any other; unequivocally. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not suspicious now, but oddly concerned. Her lips curved into that one specific smile that I had only seen on her face when she was confronted with someone else's pain. She reached her hand across the table again, slowly and deliberately. I pulled my hands an inch away from her, but she ignored that, determined to touch me. I held my breath, not because of her scent now, but because of the sudden overwhelming tension. Fear. My skin would disgust her; she would run away. She brushed her fingertips lightly across the back of my hand. The heat of her gentle, willing touch was like nothing I'd ever felt before; it was almost pure pleasure. What have been except for my fear. I watched her face as she felt the cold stone of my skin, still unable to breathe. Her smile of concern shifted into something wider, something warmer.

"Thank you," she said, meeting my stare with an intense gaze of her own. "That's twice now." Her soft fingers lingered against my skin as if they found it pleasant to be there.

"Let's not try for three," I answered her as casually as I was able.

"Agreed," she chuckled a little at that but nodded. I pulled my hands out from under hers; as exquisite as her touch felt, I wasn't going to wait for the magic of her tolerance to pass, to turn to revulsion. I hid my hands under the table. I read her eyes though; her mind was silent. I could perceive both trust and wonder there. I realized in that moment that I wanted to answer her questions, not because I owed it to her, not because I wanted her to trust me; I wanted her to know me.

"I followed you to Port Angeles," I told her, the words spilling out too quickly for me to edit them. I knew the danger of the truth, the risk I was taking. At any moment, her unnatural calm could shatter into hysterics. Contrarily, knowing this only had me talking faster. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." I watched her, waiting. She smiled wider again; her clear, dark eyes seemed deeper than ever. I just admitted to stalking her, and she was smiling.

"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up that first time with the van and that you've been interfering with fate?" she asked.

"That wasn't the first time," I said, staring down at the dark maroon tablecloth, my shoulders bowed in shame. Barriers down; the truth still spilling free, recklessly. "Your number was up the first time I met you." It was true, and it angered me. I had been positioned over her life like the blade of a guillotine, as though it was ordained by fate, just as she said, as if she'd been marked for death by that cruel, unjust fate, and since I'd proved an unwilling tool, it continued to try to execute her. I imagined fate personified—a grizzly, jealous hag, a vengeful harpy. I wanted something, someone, to be responsible for this, so that I would have something concrete to fight against, something, anything, to destroy, so that Bella could be safe.

Bella was very quiet; her breathing had accelerated. I looked up at her, knowing I would finally see the fear I was waiting for. Had I not just admitted how close I'd been to killing her—closer than the van that had come within slim inches of crushing the life from her body—and yet her face was still calm, her eyes still tightened only with concern.

"You remember," she said, her voice level and grave. Her deep eyes were full of awareness. She knew; she knew that I had wanted to murder her.

"Where are your screams? And yet here you sit," I said, pointing out the inherent contradiction.

"Yes, here I sit, because of you," her expression altered, turned curious as she subtly changed the subject. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today." Hopelessly, I pushed one more time at the barrier that protected her thoughts, desperate to understand it. It made no logical sense to me; how could she even care about the rest with that glaring truth on the table? She waited, only curious. Her skin was pale, which was natural for her, but it still concerned me. Her dinner sat nearly untouched in front of her. If I continued to tell her too much, she was going to need a buffer when the shock set in.

"At last, I named my terms. You eat; I'll talk." She processed that for half a second and then threw a bite into her mouth with a speed that belied her calm. She was more anxious for my answer than her eyes let on.

"It's harder than it should—should be—keeping track of you," I told her. "Usually I can find someone very easily once I've heard their mind before." I watched her face carefully as I said this; guessing right was one thing, having it confirmed was another. She was motionless, her eyes blank. I felt my teeth clench together as I waited for her panic, but she just blinked once, swallowed loudly, and then quickly scooped another bite into her mouth, eager for me to continue.

"I was keeping tabs on Jessica," I went on, watching each word as it sank in. "Not carefully, like I said. Only you could find trouble in Port Angeles," I couldn't resist adding. Was she aware that other human lives were not so plagued with near-death experiences, or did she think the things that happened to her were normal? "And at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in and that you'd gone south, and I knew you would have to turn around soon, so I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street to see if anyone had noticed you, so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried, but I was strangely anxious. My breath came faster as I remembered—remembered that feeling of panic. Her scent blazed in my throat, and I was glad it was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe. I started to drive in circles, still listening; I hoped the word made sense to her. This had to be confusing. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot, and then, as the memory took me—perfectly clear and as vivid as if I was in the moment again—I felt the same murderous fury wash through my body, locking it into ice. I wanted him dead; he should be dead. My jaw clenched tight as I concentrated on holding myself here at the table. Bella still needed me; that was what mattered. Then what?"

She whispered, her dark eyes huge.

"I heard what they were thinking," I said through my teeth, unable to keep the words from coming out in a growl. "I saw your face in his mind. I still knew precisely where to find him; his black thoughts sucked at the night sky, pulling me toward them." I covered my face, knowing my expression was that of a hunter, a killer. I fixed her image behind my closed eyes to control myself—the delicate framework of her bones, the thin sheath of her pale skin, like silk stretched over glass, incredibly soft and easy to shatter. She was too vulnerable for this world; she needed a protector, and through some twisted mismanagement of destiny, I was the closest thing available. I tried to explain my violent reaction so that she would understand.

"It was very hard—you can't imagine how hard—for me to simply take you away and leave them alive," I whispered. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them for the second time tonight." I confessed to an intended murder; at least this one was defensible.

She was quiet as I struggled to control myself. I listened to her heartbeat; the rhythm was irregular, but it slowed as the time passed until it was steady again. Her breathing, too, was low and even. I was too close to the edge; I needed to get her home before—would I kill him then? Would I become a murderer again when she trusted me? Was there any way to stop myself? She'd promised to tell me her latest theory when we were alone—that I want to hear it. I was anxious for it, but would the reward for my curiosity be worse than not knowing? At any rate, she must have had enough truth for one night. I looked at her again, and her face was paler than before, but composed.

"Are you ready to go home?" I asked.

"I'm ready to leave," she said, choosing her words carefully, as if a simple yes did not fully express what she wanted to say. Frustrating. The waitress returned; she'd heard Bella's last statement as she dithered on the other side of the partition, wondering what more she could offer me. I wanted to roll my eyes at some of the offerings she'd had in mind.

"How are we doing?" she asked me.

"We're ready for the check, thank you," I told her, my eyes on Bella. The waitress's breathing spiked, and she was momentarily, to use Bella's phrasing, dazzled by my voice. In a sudden moment of perception, hearing the way my voice sounded in this inconsequential human's head, I realized why I seemed to be attracting so much admiration tonight, unmarred by the usual fear; it was because of Bella, trying so hard to be safe for her, to be less frightening, to be human. I truly had lost my edge; the other human saw only beauty now, with my innate horror so carefully under control. I looked up at the waitress, waiting for her to recover herself; it was sort of humorous now that I understood the reason.

"Sure, here you go," she handed me the folder with the bill, thinking of the card she slid in behind the receipt—a card with her name and telephone number on it. Yes, it was rather funny. I had money ready; again, I gave the folder back at once so she wouldn't waste any time waiting for a call that would never come.

"No change," I told her, hoping the size of the tip would assuage her disappointment. I stood, and Bella quickly followed suit. I wanted to offer her my hand, but I thought that might be pushing my luck a little too far for one night. I thanked the waitress, my eyes never leaving Bella's face. Bella seemed to be finding something amusing, too. I walked as close beside her as I dared—close enough that the warmth coming off her was like a physical touch against the left side of my body—as I held the door for her. She sighed quietly, and I wondered what regret weighed on her. I stared into her eyes, about to ask, when she suddenly looked at the ground, seeming embarrassed. It made me more curious even as it made me reluctant to ask. The silence between us continued while I opened her door for her and then got into the car. I turned the heater on; the warmer weather had come to an abrupt end; the cold car would be uncomfortable for her. She huddled in my jacket, a small smile on her lips. I waited, postponing the conversation until the lights of the boardwalk faded. It made me feel more alone with her; was that the right thing? The car seemed very small; her scent swirled through it with the current of the heater, building and strengthening; it grew into its own force, like a third entity in the car, a presence that demanded recognition. It had—that I burned. The burning was acceptable, though it seemed strangely appropriate to me. I had been given so much tonight—more than I had expected—and here she was, still willingly at my side. I owed something in return for that—a sacrifice, a burnt offering. Now, if I could just keep it to that—just burn and nothing more—but the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles tensed in anticipation, as if I were hun—I had to keep such thoughts from my mind, and I knew what would distract me now.

"I said to her, fear of her response taking the edge off the burn. It's your turn. Chapter 10. Theory. Can I ask just one more?"

"She intreated. Instead of answering my demand. I was on edge, anxious for the worst, and yet how tempting it was to prolong this moment, to have her with me willingly for just a few seconds longer. I sighed at the dilemma and then said, 'One.'"

"Well," she hesitated for a moment, as if deciding which question to voice. "You said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

I glared at the windshield. Here was another question that revealed nothing on her part and too much on mine.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," she said, her tone critical and disappointed. How ironic; she was relentlessly evasive without even trying.

"Well," she wanted me to be direct, and this conversation wasn't going anywhere good regardless. "Fine, then," I said. "I followed your scent." I wanted to watch her face, but I was afraid of what I would see. Instead, I listened to her breath accelerate and then stabilize. She spoke again after a moment, and her voice was steadier than I would have expected.

"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions," she said.

I looked down at her, frowning. She was stalling, too.

"Which one?"

"How does it work—the mind-reading thing?" she asked, reiterating her question from the restaurant. "Can you read anybody's mind anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family—" she trailed off, flushing again.

"That's more than one," I said. She just looked at me, waiting for her answers. And why not tell her? She'd already guessed most of this, and it was an easier subject than the one that loomed.

"No, it's just me, and I can't hear anyone anywhere. I have to be fairly close; the more familiar someone's voice is, the farther away I can hear them, but still no more than a few miles." I tried to think of a way to describe it so that she would understand—an analogy that she could relate to. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum, a buzzing of voices in the background until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear—most of the time. I tune it all out; it can be very distracting, and then it's easier to seem normal." I scowled. "When I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" she wondered.

I gave her another truth and another analogy.

"I don't know," I admitted. "The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do—like your thoughts are on the AM frequency, and I'm only getting FM." I realized as soon as the words were out that she would not like this analogy. The anticipation of her reaction had me smiling. She didn't disappoint.

"My mind doesn't work right?" she asked, her voice rising. "I'm a freak?"

"Ah, the irony again," I laughed. "I hear voices in my mind, and you're worried that you're the freak?" She understood all the small things, and yet the big ones she got backward—always the wrong instincts. Bella was gnawing on her lip, and the crease between her eyes was etched deep.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "It's just a theory. And there was a more important theory to be discussed." I was anxious to get it over with; each passing second was beginning to feel more and more like borrowed time.

"Which brings us back to you," she sighed, still chewing her lip. I worried that she would hurt herself. She stared into my eyes, her face troubled.

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?"

Asked quietly, she looked down, struggling with some internal dilemma. Suddenly, she stiffened, and her eyes flew wide open. Fear flashed across her face for the first time.

"Holy crow," she gasped. I panicked. What had she seen? How had I frightened her? Then she shouted, "Slow down! What's wrong?" I didn't understand where her terror was coming from.

"You're going 100 miles an hour," she yelled at me. She flashed a look out the window and recoiled from the dark trees racing past us. This little thing, just a bit of speed, had her shouting in fear. I rolled my eyes.

"Relax, Bella,"

"Are you trying to kill us?" she demanded, her voice high and tight. "We're not going to crash," I promised her. She sucked in a sharp breath and then spoke in a slightly more level tone. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I always drive like this," I met her gaze, amused by her shocked expression.

"Keep your eyes on the road," she shouted. "I've never been in an accident, Bella. I've never even gotten a ticket." I grinned at her and touched my forehead. It made it even more comical, the absurdity of being able to joke with her about something so secret and strange.

"Built-in radar detector. Very funny," she said sarcastically, her voice still more frightened than angry. "Charlie's a cop, remember. I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."

"Probably," I repeated and then laughed, without humor. "Yes, we would fare quite differently in a car accident." She was right to be afraid, despite my driving abilities.

"But you can't—" With a sigh, I let the car drift to a crawl. Happy, she eyed the speedometer. Almost. Was this still too fast for her?

"I hate driving slow," I muttered, but let the needle slide down another notch.

"This is slow?" she asked.

"Enough commentary on my driving," I said impatiently. How many times had she dodged my question now? Three times? Four? Were her speculations that horrific? I had to know immediately.

"I'm still waiting for your latest theory." She bit her lip again, and her expression became upset, almost pained. I reigned in my impatience and softened my voice. I didn't want her to be distressed.

"I won't laugh," I promised, wishing that it were only embarrassment that made her unwilling to talk.

"I'm more afraid that you'll be angry with me," she whispered. I forced my voice to stay even. "Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yeah." She looked down, refusing to meet my eyes. The seconds passed.

"Go ahead," I encouraged. Her voice was small.

"I don't know how to start."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" I remembered her words before dinner. "You said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No," she agreed and then was silent again. I thought about things that might have inspired her. What got her started? A book? A movie? I should have looked through her collections when she was out of the house. I had no idea if Bram Stoker or Anne Rice were there in her stack of worn paperbacks.

"No," she said again. "It was Saturday, at the beach." I hadn't expected that. The local gossip about us had never strayed into anything too bizarre or too precise. Was there a new rumor I'd missed? Bella peeked up from her hands and saw the surprise on my face.

"I ran into an old family friend, Jacob Black," she went on. "His dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby." Jacob Black. The name was not familiar, and yet it reminded me of something, some time long ago. I stared at the windshield, flipping through memories to find the connection.

"His dad is one of the Quileute elders," she said. "Jacob Black. Ephraim Black. A descendant, no doubt. It was as bad as it could get." She knew the truth. My mind was flying through the ramifications as the car flew around the dark curves in the road, my body rigid with anguish, motionless except for the small automatic actions it took to steer. She knew the truth. But if she'd learned the truth Saturday, then she'd known it all evening long, and yet we went for a walk.

"He was telling me about some old legends, trying to scare me, I think," she stopped short, but there was no need for her qualms now. I knew what she was going to say. The only mystery left was why she was here with me now.

"Go on," I said.

"About vampires," she breathed the words, less than a whisper. Somehow, it was even worse than knowing that she knew; hearing her speak the word aloud. I flinched at the sound of it and then controlled myself again.

"And you immediately thought of me?" I asked.

"No," she said. "He mentioned your family." How ironic that it would be Ephraim's own progeny that would violate the treaty he'd vowed to uphold. A grandson or great-grandson, perhaps? How many years had it been? Seventy? I should have realized that it was not the old men who believed in the legends that would be the danger. Of course, the younger generation, those who had been warned but would think the ancient superstitions laughable—that was where the danger of exposure lay. I suppose this meant I was now free to slaughter the small, defenseless tribe on the coastline, were I so inclined. Ephraim and his pack of protectors were long dead.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition," Bella said suddenly, her voice edged with a new anxiety, almost as if she could read my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hands twist uneasily.

"It was my fault," she said after a brief pause, and then she hung her head as if she was ashamed. I forced him to tell me. Why it wasn't so hard to keep my voice level now. The worst was already done. As long as we spoke of the details of the revelation, we didn't have to move on to the consequences of it.

"Lauren said something about you," she was trying to provoke me. She made a little face at the memory. I was slightly distracted, wondering how Bella would be provoked by someone talking about me. "And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation," only it sounded like he meant something different. "So I got Jacob alone, and I tricked it out of him." Her head dropped even lower as she admitted this, and her expression looked guilty. I looked away from her and laughed out loud. It was a hard, edged sound. She felt guilty. What could she possibly have done to deserve censure of any kind?

"Tricked him? How?" I asked.

"I tried to flirt. It worked better than I thought it would," she explained, and her voice turned incredulous at the memory of that success. I could just imagine, considering the attraction she seemed to hold for all things male, totally unconscious on her part, how overwhelming she would be when she tried to be attractive. I was suddenly full of pity for the unsuspecting boy she'd unleashed such a potent force on.

"I'd like to have seen that," I said, and then I laughed again, with dark humor. I wished I could have heard the boy's reaction, witnessed the devastation for myself.

"And you accused me of dazzling people?" Poor Jacob Black. I wasn't as angry with the source of my exposure as I would have expected to feel. He didn't know better, and how could I expect anyone to deny this girl what she wanted? No, I only felt sympathy for the damage she would have done to his peace of mind. I felt her blush heat the air between us. I glanced at her, and she was staring out her window. She didn't speak again.

"What did you do then?" I prompted. Time to get back to the horror story.

"I did some research on the internet." Ever practical.

"And did that convince you?"

"No," she said. "Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly," and then she broke off again, and I heard her teeth lock together.

"What?" I demanded. "What? What had she found? What had made sense of the nightmare for her?" There was a short pause, and then she whispered, "I decided it didn't matter." Shock froze my thoughts for a half second, and then it all fit together. Why she'd sent her friends away tonight rather than escape with them; why she had gotten into my car with me again instead of running screaming for the police. Her reactions were always wrong, always completely wrong. She pulled danger toward herself; she invited it.

"It doesn't matter," I said through my teeth, anger filling me. "How was I supposed to protect someone so, so, so determined to be unprotected?"

"No," she said in a low voice that was inexplicably tender. "It doesn't matter to me what you are." She was impossible.

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?" No, I started to wonder if she was entirely stable. I suppose that I could arrange for her to receive the best care available. Carlisle would have the connections to find her the most skilled doctors, the most talented therapists. Perhaps something could be done to fix whatever it was that was wrong with her, whatever it was that made her content to sit beside a vampire with her heart beating calmly and steadily. I would watch over the facility, naturally, and visit as often as she allowed.

"You're angry," she sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything," as if her hiding these disturbing tendencies would help either of us.

"No," I said. "I'd rather know what you're thinking, even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" she asked, a bit belligerent now.

"That's not what I was referring to," my teeth clenched together again.

"It doesn't matter," I repeated in a scathing tone.

"I get it. I'm right. Does it matter?" I countered. She took a deep breath. I waited angrily for her answer.

"Not really," she said, her voice composed again. "But I am curious."

Not really. It didn't really matter. She didn't care. She knew I was inhuman, a horror, and this didn't really matter to her. Aside from my worries about her sanity, I began to feel a swelling of hope. I tried to quash it.

"What are you curious about?" I asked her. There were no secrets left, only minor details.

"How old are you?" she asked. My answer was automatic and ingrained.

"Seventeen."

"And how long have you been seventeen?" I tried not to smile at her patronizing tone.

"A while," I admitted.

"Okay," she said abruptly, enthusiastic. She smiled up at me. When I stared back, anxious again about her mental health, she smiled wider. I frowned.

"Don't laugh," she warned.

"But how can you come out during the daytime?" I laughed, despite her request. Her research had not netted her anything unusual, it seemed.

"Myth," I told her. "Burned by the sun, myth. Sleeping in coffins, myth." Sleep had not been a part of my life for so long, not until these last few nights, as I'd watched Bella dreaming.

"I can't sleep," I murmured, answering her question more fully. She was silent for a moment.

"At all?" she asked.

"Never," I breathed as I met her penetrating gaze, read the surprise and the sympathy there. I abruptly yearned for sleep, not for oblivion as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where she and I could be together. She dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of her. She stared back at me, her expression full of wonder. I had to look away. I could not dream of her. She should not dream of me.

"You haven't asked me the—the most important question yet," I said. The stone heart in my silent chest felt colder and harder than before. She had to be forced to understand. At some point, she must be made to see that this all did matter, more than any other consideration. Considerations like the fact that I loved her.

"Which one is that?" she asked, surprised and unaware. This only made my voice harder.

"You aren't concerned about my diet?"

"Oh, that," she spoke in a quiet tone that I couldn't interpret. "Yes, that."

"Don't you want to know if I drink blood?" She cringed away from my question, finally.

"Well, Jacob said something about that," she said.

"What did Jacob say?"

"He said you didn't hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous," I repeated cynically.

"Not exactly," she clarified. "He said you weren't supposed to be dangerous, but the Quileute still didn't want you on their land, just in case." I stared at the road, my thoughts in a hopeless snarl, my throat aching with the familiar fire.

"So was he right?" she asked as calmly as if she were confirming a weather report about not hunting people.

"The Quileute have a long memory," she nodded to herself, thinking hard.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," I said quickly. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand." No, she didn't. How to make her see?

"We try," I told her. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you." Her scent was still a force in the car. I was growing used to it. I could almost ignore it, but there was no denying that my body still yearned toward her, for the worst possible reason. My mouth was swimming with venom. I swallowed.

"This is a mistake?" she asked, and there was heartbreak in her voice. The sound of it disarmed me. She wanted to be with me, despite everything. She wanted to be with me. Hope swelled again, and I beat it back.

"A very dangerous one," I told her truthfully, wishing the truth could really, somehow, cease to matter. She didn't respond for a moment. I heard her breathing change; it hitched in strange ways that did not sound like fear.

"Tell me more," she said suddenly, her voice distorted by anguish. I examined her carefully. She appeared to be in some kind of pain. How had I allowed this?

"What more do you want to know?" I asked, trying to think of a way to keep her from hurting. She should not hurt. I couldn't let her be hurt.

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," she said, still anguished. Wasn't it obvious? Or maybe this didn't matter to her either.

"I don't want to be a monster," I muttered. "But animals aren't enough." I searched for another comparison, a way that she could understand. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk. We call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather, thirst—but it keeps us strong enough to resist most of the time." My voice got lower. I was ashamed of the danger I had allowed her to be in, danger I continued to allow.

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I sighed. Of course, she would ask the question I didn't want to answer.

"Yes," I admitted. I expected her physical response correctly this time. Her breathing held steady; her heart kept its even pattern. I expected it, but I did not understand—understand it. How could she not be afraid?

"But you're not hungry now," she declared, perfectly sure of herself.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes," she said, her tone off. "I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people—men, in particular—are crabby when they're hungry." I chuckled at her description. Crabby? There was an understatement, but she was dead right, as usual.

"You are observant, aren't you?" I laughed again. She smiled a little, the crease returning between her eyes as if she were concentrating on something.

"Were you hunting this weekend with Emmett?" she asked after my laugh had faded. The casual way she spoke was as fascinating as it was frustrating. Could she really accept so much in stride? I was closer to shock than she seemed to be.

"Yes," I told her, and then, as I was about to leave it at that, I felt the same urge I had in the restaurant. I wanted her to know me. I didn't want to leave. I went on slowly, but it was necessary. "It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?" I took a deep breath and then turned to meet her gaze. This kind of honesty was difficult, in a very different way. "It makes me anxious," I suppose that word would suffice, though it wasn't strong enough. "To be away from you." I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend worrying about you, and after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed. Then I remembered the scrapes on her palms.

"Well, not totally unscathed," I amended.

"What? Your hand?" I reminded her. She sighed, and her lips turned down.

"I fell,"

"That's what I thought," I said, unable to contain my smile. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse," and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away.

"It was a very long three days," I really got on Emmett's nerves, honestly. That didn't belong in the past tense. I was probably still irritating Emmett and all the rest of my family too, except Alice.

"Three days?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharp. "Didn't you just get back today?" I didn't understand the edge in her voice.

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" she demanded. Her irritation confused me. She didn't seem to realize that this question was one that related to mythology again.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't," I said. "But I can't go out in the sunlight, at least not where anyone can see." That distracted her from her mysterious annoyance.

"Why?" she asked, leaning her head to one side. I doubted I could come up with the appropriate analogy to explain this one, so I just told her, "I'll show you sometime," and then immediately wondered if this was a promise I would end up breaking. I'd said the words so casually, but I could not imagine actually following through. It wasn't something to worry about now. I didn't know if I could be allowed to see her again after tonight. Did I love her enough yet to be able to bear leaving her?

"You might have called me," she said. What an odd conclusion, but I knew you were safe. "But I didn't know where you were. I—" She came to an abrupt stop and looked at her hands.

"What?"

"I didn't like it," she said shyly, the skin over her cheekbones warming. "Not seeing you. It makes me anxious too."

"Are you happy now?" I demanded of myself. Well, here was my reward for hoping. I was bewildered, elated, horrified—mostly horrified—to realize that all my wildest fantasies were not so far off the mark. This was why it didn't matter to her that I was a monster. It was exactly the same reason that the rules no longer mattered to me, why right and wrong were no longer compelling influences, why all my priorities had shifted one rung down to make room for this girl at the very top. Bella cared for me too. I knew it could be nothing in comparison to how I loved her. She was mortal, changeable; she wasn't locked in with no hope of recovery, but still, she cared enough to risk her life to sit here with me, to do so gladly enough that it would cause her pain if I did the right thing and left her. Was there anything I could do now that would not hurt her? Anything at all? Every word we spoke here, each one of them, was another pomegranate seed. That strange vision in the restaurant had been more on point than I'd realized. I should have stayed away. I should never have come back to Forks. I would cause her nothing but pain. Would that stop me from staying now, from making it worse? The way I felt at this moment, feeling her warmth against my skin—no, nothing would stop me.

"Hi," I groaned to myself. "This is wrong."

"What did I say?" she asked, quick to take the blame on herself.

"Don't you see, Bella? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don't want to hear that you feel that way." It was a truth; it was a lie. The most selfish part of me was flying with the knowledge that she wanted me as I wanted her.

"It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Bella. Please grasp that."

"No," her lips pouted out stubbornly.

"I'm serious," I was battling with myself so strongly, half desperate for her to accept my warnings, half desperate to keep the warnings from escaping, that the words came through my teeth as a growl.

"So am I," she insisted. "I told you it doesn't matter what you are."

"It's too late," too late. The world was bleakly black and white for one endless second as I watched the shadows crawl across the sunny lawn towards Bella's sleeping form in my memory, inevitable, unstoppable. They stole the color from her skin and plunged her into darkness, into the underworld. Too late. Alice's vision swirled in my head: Bella's blood-red eyes staring back at me impassively, expressionless. But there was no way that she could not hate me for that future, hate me for stealing everything from her.

"It cannot be too late,"

"Never say that," I hissed. She stared out her window, and her teeth bit into her lip again. Her hands were balled into tight fists in her lap; her breathing hitched.

"What are you thinking?" I had to know. She shook her head without looking at me. I saw something glisten like a crystal on her cheek. Agony.

"Are you crying?" I'd made her cry. I'd hurt her that much. She scrubbed the tear away with the back of her hand.

"No," she lied, her voice breaking. Some long-buried instinct had me reaching out toward her. In that one second, I felt more human than I'd ever had, and then I remembered that I was not, and I lowered my hand.

"I'm sorry," I said, my jaw locked. How could I ever tell her how sorry I was? Sorry for all the stupid mistakes I'd made, sorry for my never-ending selfishness, sorry that she was so unfortunate as to have inspired this first and last tragic love of mine, sorry also for the things beyond my control that I'd been the executioner chosen by fate to end her life in the first place. I took a deep breath, ignoring my wretched reaction to the flavor in the car and tried to collect myself. I wanted to change the subject, to think of something else. Lucky for me, my curiosity about the girl was insatiable.

"Tell me something," I said.

"Yes," she asked huskily, tears still in her voice. "What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression. You didn't look that scared; you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something." I remembered her face, forcing myself to forget whose eyes I was looking through, the look of determination there.

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker," she said, her voice more composed. "You know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain." Her composure did not last to the end of her explanation; her tone twisted until it seethed with hate. This was no hyperbole, and her fury was not humorous now. I could see her frail figure, just silk over glass, overshadowed by the meaty, heavy-fisted human monsters who would have hurt her. The fury boiled in the back of my head.

"You were going to fight them?" I wanted to groan. Her instincts were deadly to herself.

"Didn't you think about running?"

"I fall down a lot when I run," she said sheepishly.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part." I shook my head in disbelief.

"You were right," I told her, a sour edge to my voice. "I'm definitely fighting fate, trying to keep you alive." She sighed and glanced out the window. Then she looked back at me.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she demanded abruptly.

"As long as we're on our way down to hell, why not enjoy the journey?"

"Yes, I have a paper due too." I smiled at her, and it felt good to do this. Clearly, hers were not the only instincts that were backwards.

"I'll save you a seat at lunch." Her heart fluttered; my dead heart felt warmer. I stopped the car in front of her father's house. She made no move to leave.

"Do you promise to be there tomorrow?" she insisted.

"I promise." How could doing the wrong thing give me so much happiness? Surely there was something amiss in that. She nodded to herself, satisfied, and started to remove my jacket.

"You can keep it," I assured her quickly. I rather wanted to leave her with something of myself, a token like the bottle cap that was in my pocket now.

"You don't have a jacket for tomorrow," she handed it back to me, smiling.

"I don't want to have to explain to Charlie," she told me.

"I would imagine not," I smiled at her.

"Oh, right," she put her hand on the door.

Handle and then stopped, unwilling to leave, just as I was unwilling for her to go, to have her unprotected even for a few moments. Peter and Charlotte were well on their way by now, long past Seattle no doubt, but there were always others.

“Bella,” I asked, amazed at the pleasure there was in simply speaking her name.

“Yes,”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Yes,” she agreed easily, and then her eyes tightened as if she thought of a reason to object.

“Don’t go into the woods alone,” I warned her, wondering if this request would trigger the reaction in her eyes. She blinked, startled.

“Why?”

I glowered into the untrustworthy darkness. The lack of light was no problem for my eyes, but neither would it trouble another Hunter. “I’m not always the most dangerous thing out there,” I told her. “Let’s leave it at that.”

She shivered, but recovered quickly and was even smiling when she told me, “Whatever you say.” Her breath touched my face, so sweet I could stay here all night like this, but she needed her sleep. The two desires seemed equally strong as they continually wed inside me: wanting her versus wanting her to be well. I sighed at the impossibilities.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, knowing that I would see her much sooner than that.

“She wouldn’t see me until tomorrow though,”

“Tomorrow, then,” she agreed as she opened the door. The door. Agony again, watching her leave. I leaned after her, wanting to hold her here.

“Bella,” she turned and then froze, surprised to find our faces so close together. I, too, was overwhelmed by the proximity. The heat rolled off her in waves, caressing my face. I could all but feel the silk of her skin. Her heartbeat stuttered and her lips fell open.

“Sleep well,” I whispered and leaned away before the urgency in my body, either the familiar thirst or the very new and strange hunger I suddenly felt, could make me do something that might hurt her.

She sat there motionless for a moment, her eyes wide and stunned, dazzled I guessed, as was I. She recovered though; her face was still a bit bemused, and half fell out of the car, tripping over her feet and having to catch the side of the car to right herself. I chuckled; hopefully it was too quiet for her to hear. I watched her stumble her way up to the pool of light that surrounded the front door, safe for the moment, and I would be back soon to make sure. I could feel her eyes follow me as I drove down the dark street; such a different sensation than I was accustomed to. Usually, I could simply watch myself through someone’s following eyes, were I of a mind to. This was strangely exciting, this intangible sensation of watching eyes. I knew it was just because they were her eyes.

A million thoughts chased each other through my head as I drove aimlessly into the night. For a long time, I circled through the streets, going nowhere, thinking of Bella, in that incredible release of having the truth known. No longer did I have to dread that she would find out what I was. She knew. It didn’t matter to her. Even though this was obviously a bad thing for her, it was amazingly liberating for me. More than that, I thought of Bella and requited love. She couldn’t love me the way I loved her. Such an overpowering, all-consuming, crushing love would probably break her fragile body, but she felt strongly enough, strongly enough to subdue the instinctive fear, strongly enough to want to be with me. And being with her was the greatest happiness I had ever known. For a while, as I was all alone and hurting no one else for a change, I allowed myself to feel that happiness without dwelling on the tragedy, just to be thrilled that she cared for me, just to exalt in the triumph of winning her affection, just to imagine sitting close to her tomorrow, hearing her voice and earning her smiles. I replayed that smile in my head, seeing her full lips pull up at the corners, the hint of a dimple that touched her pointed chin, the way her eyes warmed and melted. Her fingers had felt so warm and soft on my hand tonight. I imagined how it would feel to touch the delicate skin that stretched over her cheekbones, silky warm, so fragile, silk over glass, frighteningly breakable. I didn’t see where my thoughts were leading until it was too late. As I dwelt on that devastating vulnerability, other images of her face intruded on my fantasies: lost in the shadows, pale with fear, yet her jaw tight and determined, her eyes full of concentration, her slim body braced to strike at the hulking forms that gathered around her—nightmares in the gloom. Oh, I groaned, as the simmering hate that I’d all but forgotten and the joy of loving her burst again into an inferno of rage.

I was alone. Bella was, I trusted, safe inside her home. For a moment I was fiercely glad that Charlie Swan, head of the local law enforcement, trained and armed, was her father. That ought to mean something, provide some shelter for her. She was safe. It would not take me very long to destroy the mortal who would have harmed her. No, she deserved better. I could not allow her to care for a murderer. But what about the others? Bella was safe; yes. Angela and Jessica were also surely safe in their beds. Yet a predator was loose on the streets of Port Angeles, a human monster. Did that make him the human problem we did not often involve ourselves with? Human problems, aside from Carlisle and his constant work to heal and save; for the rest of us, our weakness for human blood was a serious impediment to becoming closely entangled with them. And of course, there were our distant wardens, the deao vampire police force, the Volturi. We Cullens lived too differently; drawing their attention with any poorly considered superhero performances would be extremely dangerous to our family. This was definitely a mortal concern, not of our world. To commit the murder, I ached to commit, was wrong. I knew that, but leaving him free to attack again could not be the right thing either. The blonde hostess from the restaurant, the waitress—I’d never really looked at either—both had irritated me in a trivial way, but that did not mean they deserved to be in danger.

I turned the car north, accelerating now that I had a purpose. Whenever I had a dilemma that was beyond me, something tangible like this, I knew where to go for help. Alice was sitting on the porch waiting for me. I pulled to a stop in front of the house, rather than going around to the garage.

“Carlisle’s in his study,” she told me before I could ask.

“Thank you,” I said, tousling her hair as I passed.

“Thank you for returning my call,” she thought sarcastically.

“Oh,” I paused by the door, pulling out my phone and flipping it open. “Sorry, I didn’t even check to see who it was. I was busy.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, too. By the time I saw what was going to happen, you were on your way. It was close,” I murmured.

“Sorry,” she repeated, ashamed of herself. It was easy to be generous, knowing that Bella was fine.

“Don’t be. I know you can’t catch everything. No one expects you to be omniscient, Alice. Thanks.”

“I almost asked you out to dinner tonight. Did you catch that before I changed my mind?” she grinned.

“No, I missed that one, too. Wish I’d known; I would have come.”

“What were you concentrating on that you missed so much?”

“Jasper’s thinking about our anniversary,” she laughed. “He’s trying not to make a decision on my gift, but I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“You’re shameless,”

“Yep,” she pursed her lips and stared up at me, a hint of accusation in her expression. “I paid better attention afterward.”

“Are you going to tell them that she knows?” I sighed.

“Yes, later. I won’t say anything. Do me a favor and tell Rosalie when I’m not around, okay?”

I flinched. “Sure.”

“Bella took it pretty well, too well,” Alice grinned at me.

“Don’t underestimate Bella.”

I tried to block the image I didn’t want to see: Bella and Alice, best of friends. Impatient now, I sighed heavily. I wanted to be through with the next part of the evening; I wanted it over with, but I was a little worried to leave Forks.

“Alice,” I began. She saw what I was planning to ask.

“She’ll be fine tonight. I’m keeping a better watch now. She sort of needs 24-hour supervision, doesn’t she? At least anyway, you’ll be with her soon enough.”

I took a deep breath. The words were beautiful to me.

“Go on, get this done so you can be where you want to be,” she told me.

I nodded and hurried up to Carlisle’s room. He was waiting for me, his eyes on the door rather than the thick book on his desk.

“I heard Alice tell you where to find me,” he said and smiled. It was a relief to be with him, to see the empathy and deep intelligence in his eyes. Carlisle would know what to do.

“I need help,”

“Anything, Edward,” he promised.

“Did Alice tell you what happened to Bella tonight? Almost happened,” he amended.

“Yes, almost. I have a dilemma, Carlisle. You see, I want very much to kill him.” The words started to flow fast and passionate, so much, but I know that would be wrong because it would be vengeance, not justice; all anger, no impartiality. Still, it can’t be right to leave a serial rapist and murderer wandering Port Angeles. I don’t know the humans there, but I can’t let someone else take Bella’s place as his victim. Those other women—it’s not right. His wide, unexpected smile stopped the rush of my words cold.

“She’s very good for you, isn’t she? So much compassion, so much control. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not looking for compliments, Carlisle.”

“Of course not, but I can’t help my thoughts, can I?” He smiled again. “I’ll take care of it. You can rest easy; no one else will be harmed in Bella’s place.” I saw the plan in his head. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted; it did not satisfy my craving for brutality, but I could see that it was the right thing.

“I’ll show you where to find him,” I said.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed his black bag on the way. I would have preferred a more aggressive form of sedation, like a cracked skull, but I would let Carlisle do this his way. We took my car. Alice was still on the steps; she grinned and waved as we drove away. I saw that she had looked ahead for me; we would have no difficulties. The trip was very short on the dark, empty road. I left off my headlights to keep from attracting attention. It made me smile to think how Bella would have reacted to this pace. I’d already been driving slower than usual to prolong my time with her when she’d objected. Carlisle was thinking of Bella, too. I didn’t foresee that she would be so good for him; that’s unexpected. Perhaps this was somehow meant to be; perhaps it serves a higher purpose. Only he pictured Bella with snow-cold skin and blood-red eyes, and then flinched away from the image. Yes, indeed. Only because—how could there be any good in destroying something so pure and lovely? I glowered into the night; all the joy of the evening destroyed.

“Edward deserves happiness,” he thought. “He’s owed it.” The fierceness of Carlisle’s thought surprised me. “There must be a way.” I wished I could believe either of his hopes, but there was no higher purpose to what was happening to Bella, just a vicious Harpy, an ugly, bitter fate who could not bear for her to have the life she deserved.

I did not linger in Port Angeles. I took Carlisle to the dive bar where the twisted thing named Lanny was drowning his disappointment with his friends, two of whom had already passed out. Carlisle could see how hard it was for me to be so close, to hear the fiend’s thoughts and see his memories—memories of Bella mixed in with those of less fortunate girls whom no one could save. Now my breathing sped; my hands clenched the steering wheel.

“Go, Edward,” he told me gently. “I’ll make the rest of them safe. You go back to Bella.” It was exactly the right thing to say; her name was the only distraction that meant anything to me.

I left Carlisle in the car and ran back to Forks in a straight line through the sleeping forest. It took less time than the first journey in the speeding car; it was just minutes later that I scaled the side of her house and slid her window out of my way. I sighed silently with relief. Everything was just as it should be. Bella was safe in her bed, dreaming. Her wet hair tangled across the pillow, but unlike most nights, she was curled into a small ball with the cover stretched taut around her shoulders—cold, I guessed. Before I could settle into my usual seat, she shivered in her sleep and her lips trembled. I thought for a brief moment and then eased out into the hallway, exploring another part of her house for the first time. Charlie’s snores were loud, and even I could almost catch the edge of his dream: something with the rush of water and patient expectation—fishing maybe. There, at the top of the stairs, was a promising-looking cupboard. I opened it hopefully and found what I was looking for. I selected the thickest blanket from the tiny linen closet and took it back into her room. I would return it before she woke, and no one would be the wiser. Holding my breath, I cautiously spread the blanket over her. She didn’t react to the added weight. I returned to the rocking chair while I waited anxiously for her to warm up. I thought of Carlisle, wondering where he was now. I knew his plan would go smoothly; Alice had seen that. Thinking of my father made me sigh. Carlisle gave me too much credit. I wished I were the person he thought me to be, that person, the one who deserved happiness, might hope to be worthy of this sleeping girl. How different things would be if I could be that Edward, or if I could not be what I am. At least there should be some balance in the universe to cancel out my darkness; should there not be an equal and opposite good? I’d envisioned the horrific fate of some explanation for the terrifying and improbable nightmares that kept coming for Bella: first myself, then the van, and then the noxious beast tonight. But if that fate had so much power, shouldn’t there be a force in place to thwart it? Someone like Bella ought to have a protector, a guardian angel. She deserved that, and yet clearly she’d been left defenseless. I would love to believe an angel, or anything else, was watching over her, anything that would give her a measure of protection, but when I tried to imagine that champion, it was obvious such a thing was impossible. What guardian angel would have allowed Bella to come here, to cross my path, formed as she was in such a fashion that there was no way I could possibly overlook her: a ridiculously potent scent to demand my attention, a silent mind to inflame my curiosity, a quiet beauty to hold my eyes, a selfless soul to earn my awe, a factor in the total lack of self-preservation so she was not repelled by me, and then, of course, add the wide streak of appallingly bad luck that put her always in the wrong place at the wrong time. There could be no stronger evidence that guardian angels were a fantasy. No one needed or deserved one more than Bella, yet any angel that could have allowed us to meet must be so irresponsible, so reckless, so hairbrained that it could not possibly be on the side of good. I’d rather the loathsome Harpy were real than any celestial being so ineffectual. At least I could fight against the ugly fate, and I would fight; I would keep fighting. Whatever force it was that wanted to hurt Bella would have to go through me. No, she had no guardian angel, but I would do my best to make up for the lack—a guardian vampire.

After about a half hour, Bella relaxed out of the tight ball; her breathing got deeper and she started to murmur. I smiled, satisfied. It was a small thing, but at least she was sleeping more comfortably tonight because I was here.

“Edward,” she sighed, and she smiled, too. I shoved tragedy aside for the moment and let myself be happy again.

Chapter 11: Interrogations

CNN broke the story first. I was glad it hit the news before I had to leave for school. I was anxious to hear how the humans would phrase the account and what amount of attention it would garner. Luckily, it was a heavy news day; there was an earthquake in South America and a political kidnapping in the Middle East, so it ended up only earning a few seconds, a few sentences, and one grainy picture. Orlando Calderas Wallace, suspected murderer wanted in the states of Texas and Oklahoma, was apprehended last night in Portland, Oregon, thanks to an anonymous tip. Wallace was found unconscious in an alley early this morning, just a few yards from a police station. Officials are unable to tell us at this time whether he will be extradited to Houston or Oklahoma City to stand trial. The picture was unclear—a mug shot, and he’d had a thick beard at the time of the photograph. Even if Bella saw it, she would probably not recognize him. I hoped she wouldn’t; it would only frighten her needlessly.

“The coverage here in town will be light; it’s too far away to be considered of local interest,” Alice told me.

“It was a good call to have Carlisle take him out of state,” I nodded. Bella didn’t watch much TV, regardless, and I’d never seen her father watching anything besides sports channels. I’d done what I could. This repugnant creature no longer hunted, and I was not a murderer—not recently anyway. I’d been right to trust Carlisle, as much as I still wished the wretch had not gotten off quite so easily. I caught myself hoping he would be extradited to Texas, where the death penalty was so popular. No, that didn’t matter. I would put this behind me and concentrate on what was most important. I’d left Bella’s room less than an hour ago; I was already aching to see her again.

“Alice, do you mind—” she cut me off.

“Rosalie will drive. She’ll act pissed, but you know she’ll enjoy the excuse to show off her car,” Alice trilled a laugh. I grinned at her.

“See you at school,”

Alice sighed, and my grin became a glare. “I know, I know,” she thought. “Not yet. I’ll wait until you’re ready for Bella to know me. You should know though, this isn’t just me being selfish; Bella’s going to like me, too.”

I didn’t answer her as I hurried out the door. That was a different way of viewing the situation. Would Bella want to know? Alice, to have a vampire for a girlfriend? Knowing Bella, that idea probably wouldn’t bother her in the slightest. I frowned to myself. What Bella wanted and what was best for Bella were two very separate things.

I started to feel uneasy as I parked my car in Bella’s driveway. The human adage said that things looked different in the morning, that things changed when you slept on them. Would I look different to Bella in the weak light of a foggy day, more or less sinister than I had in the blackness of night? Had the truth sunk in while she slept? Would she finally be afraid? Her dreams had been peaceful though, last night. When she’d spoken my name time and time again, she’d smiled more than once; she’d murmured a plea for me to stay. Would that mean nothing today? I waited nervously, listening to the sounds of her inside the house: the fast, stumbling footsteps on the stairs, the sharp rip of a foil wrapper, the contents of the refrigerator crashing against each other. When the door slammed, it sounded as though she was in a hurry, anxious to get to school. The thought made me smile, hopeful again. I glanced at the clock. I suppose that taking into account the velocity her decrepit truck must limit her to, she was running a little late.

Bella rushed out of the house, her book bag sliding off her shoulder, her hair coiled into a messy twist that was already coming apart at the nape of her neck. The thick green sweater she wore was not enough to keep her thin shoulders from hunching against the cold fog. The long sweater was too big for her, unflattering; it masked her slender figure, turning all her delicate curves and soft lines into a shapeless jumble. I appreciated this almost as much as I wished that she had worn something more like the soft blue blouse she had on last night. The fabric had clung to her skin in such an appealing way, cut low enough to reveal the mesmerizing shape of her collarbones, curling out from the hollow of her throat. The blue had flowed like water along the subtle shape of her body. It was better, essential, that I kept my thoughts far, far away from that shape, so I was grateful for the unbecoming sweater. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes, and it would be a monumental mistake to dwell on the strange hungers that thoughts of her lips, her skin, her body were shaking loose inside me—hungers that had evaded me for a hundred years. But I could not allow myself to think of touching her because that was impossible. I would break her.

Bella turned away from the door in such a hurry that she nearly ran right by my car without noticing it. Then she skidded to a stop, her knees locking like a startled colt. Her bag slid farther down her arm, and her eyes flew wide as they focused on the car. I got out, taking no care to move at human speed and open the passenger door for her. I would not try to deceive her anymore; when we were alone, at least, I would be myself. She looked up at me, startled again as I seemingly materialized out of the fog, and then the surprise in her eyes changed to something else, and I was no longer afraid or hopeful that her feelings for me had changed in the course of the night: warmth, wonder, fascination—all swam in the translucent depths of her eyes.

“Do you want to ride with me today?” I asked. Unlike dinner last night, I would let her choose from now on. It must always be her choice.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” she murmured, climbing into my car without hesitation. Would it ever cease to thrill me that I was the one she was saying yes to? I flashed around the car, eager to join her. She showed no sign of being shocked by my sudden reappearance. The happiness I felt when she sat beside me this way had no precedent. As much as I enjoyed the love and companionship of my family, despite the various entertainments and distractions my world had to offer, I had never been happy like this, even knowing that it was wrong, that this couldn’t possibly end well. I could not keep the smile from my face for long when we were together. My jacket was folded over the headrest of her seat. I saw her eyeing it.

“I brought the jacket for you,” I told her. This was my excuse, had I needed to provide one for showing up uninvited this morning. It was cold; she had no jacket. Surely this was an acceptable form of chivalry.

“I didn’t want you to get sick or something,”

“I’m not quite that delicate,” she said, staring at my chest rather than my face, as if she were hesitant to meet my eyes, but she put the coat on before I could resort to coaxing or begging.

“Aren’t you?” I muttered to myself. She looked out at the road as I accelerated toward the school. I could only stand the silence for a few seconds. I had to know what her thoughts were this morning. So much had changed between us since the last—last time the sun was up.

“What, no twenty questions today?” I asked, keeping it light again. She smiled, seeming glad that I broached the subject.

“Do my questions bother you?”

“Not as much as your reactions do,” I told her honestly, smiling in response to hers. Her mouth turned down.

“Do I react badly?”

“No, that’s the problem. You take everything so coolly; it’s unnatural. Not one scream so far. How could that be? It makes me wonder what you’re really thinking.” Of course, everything she did or didn’t do made me wonder that.

“I always tell you what I’m really thinking.”

“You edit,” Her teeth pressed into her lip again. She didn’t seem to notice when she did this; it was an unconscious response to tension.

“Not very much,” Just those words were enough to have my curiosity raging.

“What do you purposely keep from me? Enough to drive me insane,” I said. She hesitated and then whispered, “You don’t want to hear it.” I had to think for a moment, run through our entire conversation last night, word for word, before I made the connection. Perhaps it took so much concentration because I couldn’t imagine anything that I wouldn’t want her to share with me. And then, because the tone of her voice was the same as last night, there was suddenly pain there.

Again, I remembered once I had asked her not to speak her thoughts. Never say that, I'd all but snarled at her. I had made her cry. Was this what she kept for me? The depth of her feelings about me, that my being a monster didn't matter to her, and that she thought it was too late for her to change her mind? I was unable to speak because the joy and pain were too strong for words; that the conflict between them too wild to allow for a coherent response. It was silent in the car except for the steady rhythms of her heart and lungs.

"Where's the rest of your family?" she asked suddenly. I took a deep breath, registering the scent in the car with true pain for the first time. I was getting used to this, I realized with satisfaction, and forced myself to be casual again. "They took Rosy's car," I said.

I parked in the open spot next to the car in question. I hid my smile as I watched her eyes grow wide. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"Um, wow," she said. "If she has that, why does she ride with you?"

Rosalie would have enjoyed Bella's reaction if she were being objective about Bella, which probably wouldn't happen. "Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in, of course." Bella was totally oblivious to the inherent contradiction of my own car. It was no accident we—we were most often seen in the Volvo, a car celebrated above all for its safety—safety, the one thing vampires would never need from a vehicle. Few would recognize the less common racing addition, not to mention the aftermarket work we'd done.

"You don't succeed," she told me, and then she laughed. A carefree laugh. The wholly untroubled sound of her laughter warmed my hollow chest.

"So why did Rosy drive today if it's more conspicuous?" she wondered.

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking all the rules now." My answer should have been mildly frightening, so of course Bella smiled at it.

Once out of the car, I walked as close to her as I dared, watching carefully for any sign that my proximity upset her. Twice her hand twitched toward me and she snatched it back. It looked like she wanted to touch me. My breath sped up.

"Why do you have cars like that at all if you're looking for privacy?" she asked as we walked.

"An indulgence," I admitted.

"We all like to drive fast," she mumbled, her tone sour. She didn't look up to see my answering grin.

"Nah uh," I said. "I don't believe this. How the hell did Bella pull this off?"

Jessica's mind-boggling interrupted my thoughts. She was waiting for Bella, taking refuge from the rain under the edge of the cafeteria roof, with Bella's winter jacket over her arm. Her—her eyes were wide with disbelief. Bella noticed her too, in the next moment, a faint pink touched her cheek when Bella registered Jessica's expression.

"Hey Jessica, thanks for remembering," Bella greeted her. Jessica handed her the jacket wordlessly. I would be polite to Bella's friends, whether or not they were good friends.

"Good morning, Jessica," I said. Wow. Jessica's eyes popped even wider, but she did not flinch or take a step back, as I expected. Though she'd often found me alluring in the past, she'd always kept a safe distance before, the way all our admirers unconsciously did. It was strange and amusing, and honestly a bit embarrassing, to realize how much being near Bella had softened me. It seemed as though no one was afraid of me anymore.

"If Emmett found out about this, he would be laughing for the next century," I thought.

"Uh, hi," Jessica mumbled, and her eyes flashed to Bella's face, full of significance. "I guess I'll see you in trig."

"You are so going to spill details," Jessica thought. "I have to have details. Edward freaking Cullen."

Bella's mouth twitched. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

Jessica's thoughts ran wild as she hurried to her first class, peeking back at us now and then. The whole story. I'm not accepting anything less. Did they plan to meet up last night? Are they dating? How long? How could she keep this a secret? How would she want to? It couldn't be a casual thing. She has to be seriously into him. I will find out. I wonder if she's made out with him. Oh, swoon. Jessica's thoughts were suddenly disjointed, and she let wordless fantasies swirl through her head.

I winced at her speculations, and not just because she'd replaced Bella with herself in the mental pictures. It couldn't be like that, and yet I—I wanted—I resisted making the admission, even to myself. In how many wrong ways would I want Bella? Which one would end up killing her? I shook my head and tried to lighten up.

"What are you going to tell her?" I asked Bella.

"Hey," she whispered fiercely. "I thought you couldn't read my mind."

"I can't," I stared at her, surprised, trying to make sense of her words. "Ah, we must have been thinking the same thing at the same time." However, I told her I can read hers. She'll be waiting to ambush you in class.

Bella groaned and then let the jacket slide off her shoulders. I didn't realize that she was giving it back at first. I wouldn't have asked for it. I would rather she kept it, a token, so I was slow to offer her my help. She handed me the jacket and put her arms through her own.

"So what are you going to tell her?" I pressed. "A little help? What does she want to know?"

I smiled and shook my head. I wanted to hear what she was thinking without a prompt.

"That's not fair," her eyes tightened. "No, you not sharing what you know. Now that's not fair, right?" She didn't like double standards.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating," I said slowly. "And she wants to know how you feel about me."

Her eyebrows shot up, not startled, but ingenuous, now, pleading, innocent. "Yikes," she murmured. "What should I say?" She always tried to make me give away more than she did. I pondered how to respond. A wayward lock of her hair, slightly damp from the fog, draped across her shoulder and curled around the place where her collarbone was hidden by the ridiculous sweater. It drew my eyes, pulled them across the other hidden lines. I reached for it carefully, not touching her skin—the morning was chill enough without my touch—and twisted it back into place in her untidy bun so that it wouldn't distract me again. I remembered when Mike Newton had touched her hair, and my jaw flexed at the memory. She had flinched away from him then. Her reaction now was nothing the same. Instead, there was a rush of blood under her skin and a sudden uneven thumping of her heart. I tried to hide my—my smile as I answered her question.

"I suppose you could say yes to the first if you don't mind," I said. "Her choice. Always her choice. It's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind," she whispered. Her heart had not found its normal rhythm yet. And as for her other question, I couldn't hide my smile now. "Well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself."

"Let's consider that," I held back my laugh as shock crossed her face. I turned quickly before she could ask any more questions. I had a difficult time not giving her whatever she asked for, and I wanted to hear her thoughts, not mine.

"I'll see you at lunch," I called back to her over my shoulder, an excuse to check that she was still staring after me. Her mouth was hanging open. I turned again and laughed as I paced away. I was vaguely aware of the shocked and speculative thoughts that swirled around me, eyes bouncing back and forth between Bella's face and my retreating figure. I paid them little attention. I couldn't concentrate; it was hard enough to keep my feet moving at an acceptable speed as I crossed the soggy grass to my first class. I wanted to run, really run, so fast that I would disappear, so fast that it would feel like flying. Part of me was flying already.

I put the jacket on when I got to class, letting her fragrance swim thick around me. I would burn now, let the scent desensitize me, and it would be easier to ignore it later when I was with her again at lunch. It was a good thing that my teachers no longer bothered to call on me. Today might have been the day they caught me out unprepared and answerless. My mind was in so many places this morning; only my body was in the classroom. Of course, I was watching Bella; that was becoming natural, as automatic as breathing, something I barely thought about consciously. I heard her conversation with a demoralized Mike Newton. She quickly directed the conversation to Jessica, and I grinned so wide that Rob Sawyer, who sat at the desk to my right, flinched visibly and slid deeper into his seat away from me. Oh, creepy. Well, I hadn't lost it entirely. I was also loosely monitoring Jessica, watching her refine her questions for Bella. I could barely wait for fourth period, ten times as eager and anxious as the curious human girl who wanted fresh gossip. And I was listening to Angela Weber. I had not forgotten the gratitude I felt to her for thinking nothing but kind things toward Bella in the first place, and then for her help last night. So I waited through the morning, looking for something she wanted. I assumed it would be easy, like any other human; she must desire some bauble or toy, several probably. I would deliver something anonymously and call us even. But Angela proved almost as unaccommodating as Bella with her thoughts. She was oddly content for a teenager, happy perhaps. This was the reason for her unusual kindness. She was one of those rare people who had what she wanted and wanted what she had had. If she wasn't paying attention to her teachers and her notes, she was thinking of the twin little brothers she was taking to the beach this weekend, anticipating their excitement with almost maternal pleasure. She cared for them often but was not resentful of this fact. It was very sweet, but not really helpful to me. There had to be something she wanted. I would just have to keep looking, but later.

It was time for Bella's trigonometry class with Jessica. I wasn't watching where I was going as I made my way to English. Jessica was already in her seat, both her feet tapping impatiently as she waited for Bella to arrive. Conversely, once I settled into my assigned seat in the classroom, I became utterly still. I had to remind myself to fidget now and then to keep up the charade. It was difficult; my thoughts were so focused on Jessica's. I hoped she would pay attention, really try to read Bella's face for me. Jessica's tapping intensified when Bella walked into the room.

"She looks glum," Jessica thought. "Why? Maybe there's nothing going on with Edward Cullen. That would be a disappointment, except then he's still available if he's suddenly interested in dating. I don't mind helping out with that."

Bella's face didn't look glum; it looked reluctant. She was worried. She knew I would hear all of this. "Tell me everything, Jess. Dem. Ed."

While Bella was still removing her jacket to hang it on the back of her seat, she was moving with deliberation, unwillingly. "Ah, she's so slow. Let's get to the juicy stuff. What do you want to know?"

Bella stalled as she took her seat. "What happened last night? He bought me dinner, and then he drove me home, and then—"

"Come on, there has to be more than that," Jessica thought. "She's lying, anyway. I know that. I'm going to call her on it. How did you get home so fast?"

I watched Bella roll her eyes at the suspicious Jessica. "He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." She smiled, a tiny smile, and I laughed out loud, interrupting Mr. Mason's announcements. I tried to turn the laugh into a cough, but no one was fooled. Mr. Mason shot me an irritated look, but I didn't even bother to listen to the thought behind it. I was hearing Jessica. "Huh, she sounds like she's telling the truth. Why is she making me pull this out of her word by word? I—I would be bragging at the top of my lungs."

"Was it like a date? Did you tell him to meet you there?" Jessica watched. Confusion crossed Bella's expression and was disappointed at how genuine it seemed.

"No, I was very surprised to see him there," Bella told her.

"What is going on? But he picked you up for school today. There has to be more to the story."

"Yes, that was a surprise too," Bella said. "He noticed I didn't have—have a jacket last night."

"That's not very much fun," Jessica thought, disappointed again. I was tired of her line of questioning. I wanted to hear something I didn't already know. I hoped she wasn't so dissatisfied that she would skip the questions I was waiting for.

"So are you going out again?" Jessica demanded.

"He offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because he thinks my truck isn't up to it," Bella said. "Does that count?"

"He sure is going out of his way to—well, take care of her, sort of," Jessica thought. "There must be something there on his side if not hers. How could that be? Bella's crazy."

"Yes," Jessica answered Bella's question.

"Well then, yes," Bella concluded.

"Wow, Edward Cullen," Jessica thought. "Whether she likes him or not, this is major. I know."

Bella sighed. The tone of her voice encouraged Jessica. Finally, she—she sounds like she gets it. I wondered if Jessica was reading Bella's tone correctly. I wished she would ask Bella to explain what she meant instead of assuming.

"Wait," Jessica said suddenly, remembering her most vital question. "Has he kissed you? Please say yes, and then describe every second."

"No," Bella mumbled, and then she looked down at her hands, her face falling. "It's not like that."

"Damn, I wish," Jessica thought. "Ha, looks like she does too."

I frowned. Bella did look upset about something, but it couldn't be disappointment as Jessica assumed. She couldn't want that, not knowing what she knew. She couldn't want to be that close to my teeth—for all she knew I had fangs. I shuddered.

"Do you think Saturday—" Jessica prodded.

Bella looked even more frustrated as she said, "I really doubt it."

"Yeah, she does wish," Jessica thought. "That sucks for her."

Was it because I was watching all this through the filter of Jessica's perceptions that it seemed as though she was right for a half second? I was distracted by the idea, the impossibility of what it would be like to try to kiss Bella—my lips to her lips, cold stone to warm yielding silk—and then she dies. I shook my head, wincing, and refocused.

"What did you talk about? Did you talk to him, or did you make him drag every ounce of information out of you like this?" I smiled. Ruuul. Jessica wasn't far off.

"I don't know, Jess. Lots of stuff," Bella said. "We talked about the English essay, a little—a very little." I smiled wider.

"Oh, come on, please, Bella. Give me some details."

Bella deliberated for a moment. "Well, okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waitress flirting with him. It was over the top, but he didn't pay any attention to her at all."

What a strange detail to share. I was surprised Bella had even noticed it. It seemed an inconsequential thing. "Interesting. That's a good sign," Jessica thought.

"Was she pretty?" Jessica asked.

"Hm," Bella said. "Very," Bella told her. "Probably nineteen or twenty."

Jessica was momentarily distracted by a memory of Mike on their date Monday night, Mike being a little too friendly with the waitress, whom Jessica did not consider pretty at all. She shoved the memory away and, stifling her irritation, returned to her quest for details.

"Even better, he must like you," Jessica said.

"I think so," Bella said slowly, and I was on the edge of my seat, my body rigidly still. "But it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic."

I must not have been as transparently obvious and out of control as I'd thought. Still observant as she was, how could she not realize that I was in love with her? I sifted through our conversation, almost surprised that I hadn't said the words out loud. It had felt as though that knowledge was the subtext of every communication between us.

"Wow," Jessica said. "How do you sit there across from a male model and make conversation? I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him."

Shock flashed across Bella's face. "Why? Weird reaction. What does she think I meant?"

"He's so—what's the right word?—intimidating," Bella said. "I wouldn't know what to say to him. I couldn't even speak English to him today, and all he said was good morning. I must have sounded like such an idiot." Bella smiled. "I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him."

She must be trying to make Jessica feel better. She was almost unnaturally self-possessed when we were together.

"Oh, well," Jessica thought. "He is unbelievably gorgeous."

Bella's face was suddenly colder. Her eyes flashed the same way they did when she resented some injustice. Jessica didn't process the change in her expression.

"There's a lot more to him than that," Bella snapped.

"Ooh, now we're getting somewhere," Jessica thought. "Really? Like what?"

Bella nodded her lip for a moment. "I can't explain it right," she finally said. "But he's even more unbelievable behind the face." She looked away from Jessica, her eyes slightly unfocused as if she was staring at something very far away. I was reminded of how it felt when Carlisle or Esme praised me beyond what I deserved. This emotion was similar but more intense, more consuming. So stupid. Somewhere else. There's nothing better than that face unless it's his body. SW. Is that possible?

Jessica giggled. Bella didn't turn; she continued to stare into the distance, ignoring Jessica. A normal person would be gloating. Maybe if I keep the question simple, like I'm talking to a kindergartener.

"So you like him then?" Jessica asked.

I was rigid again. Bella didn't look at Jessica. "Yes."

"I mean, do you really like him?" Jessica asked.

"Yes," Bella said. Look at that blush.

"How much do you like him?" Jessica demanded. The English room could have gone up in flames, and I wouldn't have noticed. Bella's face was bright red now. I could almost feel the heat from the mental picture.

"Too much," she whispered. "More than he likes me, but I don't see how I can help that."

"Shoot," Jessica thought. "What did Mr. Varner just ask? Um, which number?"

It was good that Jessica could no longer quiz Bella. I needed a minute. What on Earth was the girl thinking now? More than he likes me? How did she come up with that? But I don't see how I can help that. What was that supposed to mean? I couldn't fit a rational explanation to the words; they were practically senseless. It seemed I couldn't take anything for granted. Obvious things, things that made perfect sense, somehow got twisted up and turned backward in that bizarre brain of hers. I glared at the clock, gritting my teeth. How could mere minutes feel so impossibly long to an immortal? Where was my perspective? My jaw was tight throughout Mr. Varner's entire trigonometry lesson. I heard more of that than the lecture in my own class. Bella and Jessica didn't speak again, but Jessica peeked at Bella several times and once noticed that her face was brilliantly red again for no apparent reason. Lunch couldn't come fast enough. I wasn't sure whether Jessica would get some of the answers I was waiting for when the class was over, but Bella was quicker than she was. As soon as the bell sounded, Bella turned to Jessica in English.

"Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," Bella said, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. I understood this for what it was: offense as the best defense. Mike asked about me. Joy made Jessica's mind suddenly unguarded, softer, without its usual snide edge.

"You're kidding," Jessica thought. "What did you say?" That was all I was going to get from Jessica today. Clearly, Bella was smiling as though she was thinking the same thing, as though she'd won the round. Well, lunch would be another story.

I moved apathetically through gym class with Alice, the way we always moved when it came to physical activity with humans. She was my teammate, naturally. No one human would ever choose to partner with one of us. It was the first day of badminton. I sighed with boredom, swinging the racket in slow motion to tap the birdie back to the other side. Lauren Mallory was on the other team; she missed. Alice was twirling her racket like a baton, staring at the ceiling. She took a step closer to the net, and Lauren flinched two steps back. We all hated Jim, Emmett especially. Throwing games was an affront to his personal philosophy. Jim seemed worse today than usual. I felt just as irritated as Emmett always did before my head could explode with impatience. Coach Clapp called the games and sent us out early. I was ridiculously grateful that he'd skipped breakfast; a fresh attempt to diet and the consequent hunger had him in a hurry to leave campus to find a greasy lunch somewhere. He promised himself he would start over tomorrow. This gave me enough time—time to get to the math building before Bella's class ended.

"Enjoy yourself," Alice thought as she headed off to meet Jasper. "Just a few more days to be patient."

"I suppose you won't say hi to Bella for me, will you?" Alice asked.

I shook my head, exasperated. "We're all psychic, so smug, FYI. It's going to be sunny on both sides of the sound this weekend. You might want to rearrange your plans."

I sighed as I continued in the opposite direction. Smug, but definitely useful. I leaned against the wall by the door, waiting. I was close enough that I could hear Jessica's voice through the bricks as well as her thoughts.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" Jessica thought. "She looks all lit up. I bet there's tons she didn't tell me. I don't think so," Bella answered, oddly unsure. Hadn't I promised to spend lunch with her? What was she thinking?

They came out of the classroom together, and both girls' eyes widened when they saw me, but I could only hear Jessica. "Nice. Wow. Oh yeah, there's more going on here than she's telling me. See you later, Bella."

Bella walked toward me, pausing a step away, still unsure. Her skin was pink across her cheekbones. I knew her well enough now to be sure that there was no fear behind her hesitation. Apparently, this was about some gulf she imagined between her feelings and mine. More than he lik—likes me. Absurd.

"Hello," I said, my voice a tad curt. Her face got brighter pink.

"Hi," she said. She didn't seem inclined to say anything else, so I led the way to the cafeteria, and she walked silently beside me. The jacket had worked; her scent was not the blow it usually was; it was just an intensification of the pain I already felt. I could ignore it more easily than I once would have believed possible.

Bella was restless as we waited in line, toying absently with the zipper on her jacket and shifting nervously from foot to foot. She glanced at me often, but whenever she met my gaze, she looked down, as if embarrassed. Was this because so many people were staring at us? Maybe she could hear the loud whispers; the gossip was verbal as well as mental today. Or maybe she realized from my expression that I was going to want some explanations. She didn't say anything until I was assembling her lunch. I didn't know what she liked—not yet—so I grabbed one of everything.

"What are you doing?" she hissed in a low voice. "You're not getting all that for me."

I shook my head and shoved the tray up to the register. "Half is for me, of course."

She raised one eyebrow skeptically but said nothing more as I paid for the food and escorted her to the table we'd sat at last week. It seemed like much more than a few days ago. Everything was different now. She sat across from me again. I pushed the tray toward her. "Take whatever you want," I encouraged.

She picked up an apple and twisted it in her hands, a speculative look on her face. "I'm curious," she said. "What a surprise. What would you do if someone dared you to eat food," she continued in a low voice that wouldn't carry to human ears. Immortal ears were another matter, if those ears were paying attention.

I frowned. "You're always curious," I complained. Oh well, it wasn't as though I hadn't had to eat before; it was part of the charade, an unpleasant part. I reached for the closest thing and held her eyes while I bit off a small piece of whatever it was without looking. I couldn't tell; it was as slimy and chunky and repulsive as any other human food. I chewed swiftly and swallowed, trying to keep the grimace off my face. The gob of food moved slowly and uncomfortably down my throat. I sighed as I thought of how I would have to choke it back up later. Disgusting.

Bella's expression was shocked, impressed. I wanted to roll my eyes. Of course, we would have perfected such deceptions.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could—couldn't you?" she asked, her nose wrinkled, and she smiled.

"I did once, on a dare," I said. "It wasn't so bad."

I laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised."

"How could he—that selfish jackass—how could he do this to us?" Rosie's piercing mental shriek broke through my humor.

"Easy, Rose," I heard Emmett whisper from across the—

The cafeteria. His arm was around her shoulders, holding her tight into his side, restraining her. "Sorry," Edward. Alice thought guiltily. "She could tell Bella knew too much from your conversation, and well, it would have been worse if I hadn't told her the truth right away. Trust me on that."

I winced at the mental picture that followed; at what would have happened if I had admitted to Rosalie that Bella knew I was a vampire when we were at home, where Rosalie didn't have a facade to keep up. I'd have to hide my Aston Martin somewhere out of state if she didn't calm down by the time school was over. The sight of my favorite car mangled and burning was upsetting, though I knew I'd earned the retribution. Jasper was not much happier. I'd deal with the others later; I only had so much time allotted to be with Bella, and I wasn't going to waste it.

"Edward and Bella look cozy, don't they?" As I tried to ignore Rosalie, Jessica's thoughts intruded. This time I didn't mind the interruption. "Good body language," I'll give Bella my take later. "He's leaning toward her, just the way he should if he's interested. He looks interested. He looks perfect," Jessica sighed. "Yum."

I met Jessica's curious eyes, and she looked away nervously, cringing back into her seat. Hm. Probably better to stick to Mike. Reality, not fantasy.

Little time had passed, but Bella had noticed my abstraction. "Jessica's analyzing everything I do," I said, using the lesser distraction as my excuse. "She'll break it down for you later." Rosalie's outrage continued, a frantic inner monologue that barely paused for a second or two as she searched her memory for fresh insults to hurl my way. I forced the sound into the background, determined to be present with Bella.

I pushed the plate of food back toward Bella. "Pizza," I realized, wondering how best to begin. My former frustration flared as her words repeated in my head: "More than he likes me, but I don't see how I can help that." She took a bite from the same slice of pizza. It amazed me how trusting she was. Of course, she didn't know I was venomous, not that sharing food would hurt her. Still, I expected her to treat me differently, as something other. She never did. I would start off gently.

"So the waitress was pretty, was she?" She raised an eyebrow again. "You really didn't notice?" As if any woman could hope to capture my attention from Bella. Absurd. Again. "No, I wasn't paying attention," I said. "I had a lot on my mind."

"Poor girl," Bella said, smiling. She liked that I hadn't found the waitress interesting in any way. I could understand that. How many times had I imagined crippling Mike Newton in the biology room? But she couldn't honestly believe that her human feelings, the fruition of 17 short mortal years, could be stronger than this demolition ball of emotion that had wrecked me after a century of emptiness.

"Something you said," I said to Jessica. I couldn't keep my voice casual. "Well, it bothers me." She was immediately on the defensive. "I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers. Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves." That was the saying.

"I warned you I would be listening," I reminded her. "And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking." Ah, she was thinking of when I made her cry. Remorse made my voice thicker. "You did. You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking—everything. I just wish that you wouldn't be thinking some things." More half-lies. I knew I shouldn't want her to care about me, but I did, of course I did.

"That's quite a distinction," she grumbled, scowling at me. "But that's not really the point at the moment."

"Then what is?" She leaned toward me, her hand resting lightly around her throat. It drew my eye, distracted me. How soft that skin must feel. Focus, I commanded myself. "Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" The question sounded ridiculous to me, as though the words were scrambled.

She froze for a moment; even her breathing stopped. Then she looked away, blinking quickly. Her breath came in a low gasp. "You're doing it again," she murmured. "What? Dazzling me?" she admitted, meeting my eyes wearily. Oh, I wasn't quite sure what to do about that. I was still thrilled that I could dazzle her, but it wasn't helping the progress of the conversation.

"It's not your fault," she sighed. "You can't help it."

"Are you going to answer the question?" I demanded. She stared at the table. "Yes." That was all she said. "Yes, you are going to answer; or yes, you really think that?" I asked impatiently. "Yes, I really think that," she said without looking up. There was a faint undertone of gloom in her voice. She blushed again, and her teeth moved unconsciously to worry her lip abruptly. I realized that this was very hard for her to admit because she truly believed it, and I was no better than that coward Mike, asking her to confirm her feelings before I'd confirmed my own. It didn't matter that I felt I'd made my side abundantly clear; it hadn't gotten through to her, and so I had no excuse.

"You're wrong," I promised. She must hear the tenderness in my voice. Bella looked up to me, her eyes opaque, giving nothing away. "You can't know that," she whispered.

"What makes you think so?" I wondered. I inferred that she thought I was underestimating her feelings because I couldn't hear her thoughts, but in truth, the problem was that she was grossly underestimating mine. She stared back at me, furrowing her brows, teeth against her lip for the millionth time. I wished desperately that I could just hear her. As I was about to start begging, she held up a finger to keep me from speaking.

"Let me think," she requested. As long as she was simply organizing her thoughts, I could be patient, or I could pretend to be. She pressed her hands together, twining and untwining her slender fingers. She watched her hands as if they belonged to someone else while she spoke. "Well, aside from the obvious," she murmured. "Sometimes I can't be sure. I don't know—know how to read minds, but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." She didn't look up. She'd caught that. Had she? Did she realize that it was only weakness and selfishness that kept me here? Did she think less of me for that?

Perceptive, I breathed, and then watched in horror as pain twisted her expression. I hurried to contradict her assumption. "That's exactly why you're wrong," I began, and then paused, remembering the first words of her explanation. They bothered me, though I didn't understand them. "What do you mean, the obvious?"

"Well, look at me," she said. I was looking; all I ever did was look at her. "I'm absolutely ordinary," she explained. "Well, except for the bad things, like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." She fanned the air toward me like she was making some point so obvious it wasn't worth spelling out. She thought she was ordinary. She thought that I was somehow preferable to her, in whose estimation? Silly, narrow-minded, blind humans like Jessica or Mike. How could she not realize that she was the most beautiful, the most exquisite? Those words weren't even enough. And she had no idea.

"You don't see yourself very clearly, you know," I told her. "I'll admit you're dead on about the bad things." I laughed humorlessly. I did not find the evil fate who hunted her comical. The clumsiness, however, was sort of funny; sweet. Would she believe me if I told her she was beautiful inside and out? Perhaps she would find corroboration more persuasive. "But you didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day." Ah, the hope, the thrill, the eagerness of those thoughts; the speed with which they turned to impossible fantasies—impossible because she wanted none of them. I was the one she said yes to. My smile must have been smug. Her face was blank with surprise.

"I don't believe it," she mumbled. "Trust me, just this once. You are the opposite of ordinary." She wasn't used to compliments; I could see that. She flushed and changed the subject. "But I'm not saying goodbye, don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most. Because if I can do it—would I ever be unselfish enough to do the right thing?"

I shook my head in despair. I would have to find the strength. She deserved a life, not what Alice had seen coming for her. If leaving is the right thing to do, and it had to be the right thing, didn't it? Bella didn't belong with me. She'd done nothing to deserve my underworld. "Then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe." As I said the words, I willed them to be true. She glared at me. Somehow, my words had angered her.

"And you don't think I would do the same?" she demanded furiously. So furious, so soft and fragile. How could she ever hurt anyone?

"You'd never have to make the choice," I told her, depressed anew by the vast difference between us. She stared at me, concerned, replacing the anger in her eyes and bringing out the little pucker between them. There was something truly wrong with the order of the Universe if someone so good and so breakable did not merit a guardian angel to keep her out of trouble. Well, I thought with dark humor, at least she has a guardian vampire. I smiled. How I loved my excuse to stay. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

She smiled too. "No one has tried to do away with me today," she said lightly, and then her face turned speculative for half a second before her eyes went opaque again. "Yet," I added dryly. Yet she agreed, to my surprise. I'd expected her to deny any need for protection.

Across the cafeteria, Rosalie's complaints were gaining in volume rather than dwindling. "Sorry," Alice thought again. She must have seen me wince. But hearing her reminded me that I had some business to attend to. "I have another question for you," I said.

"Shoot," Bella said, smiling. "Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?" She scowled at me. "You know I haven't forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet. It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him."

"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me," I said. "I just really wanted to watch your face." I laughed, now remembering her aghast expression. Nothing I'd told her about my own dark story had ever made her look so horrified.

"If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?"

"Probably not," she said. "But I would have canceled later—faked an illness or a sprained ankle."

"How strange. Why would you do that?" She shook her head as if she was disappointed that I did not understand at once. "You've never seen me in gym, I guess, but I would have thought that you would understand."

"Ah, are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Obviously, that wouldn't be a problem," she said. "It's all in the leading."

For a brief fraction of a second, I was overwhelmed by the idea of holding her in my arms at a dance, where she would surely wear something pretty and delicate rather than this hideous sweater. With perfect clarity, I remembered how her body had felt under mine after I'd thrown her out of the way of the oncoming van—stronger than the panic or the desperation. I could remember that sensation. She'd been so warm and so soft, fitting easily into my own stone shape. I wrenched myself back from the memory.

"But you never told me," I said quickly, preventing her from arguing with me as she clearly intended to do. "Are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?" Devious; giving her a choice without giving her the option of getting away from me for the day. Hardly fair, but I had made her a promise last night, too casually, too thoughtlessly, but still, if I was ever going to earn the trust she'd given me despite my unworthiness, I would have to keep every promise I could, even if the idea terrified me. The sun would be shining Saturday. I could show her the real me, if I was brave enough to endure her horror and disgust. I knew just the place to take such a risk.

"I'm open to alternatives," Bella said. "But I do have a favor to ask." A qualified yes. What would she want from me? "What can I drive?" Was this her idea of humor?

"Why? Well, mostly because when I told Charlie I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone, and at the time I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't lie, but I don't think he will ask again. And leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also because your driving frightens me."

I rolled my eyes at her. Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving? Truly, her brain worked backward. I shook my head, disgusted. Why couldn't she fear the right things? Why couldn't I want her to? I wasn't able to keep up the playful tone of our banter.

"Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" I asked, darkness seeping into my voice as I thought of all the reasons that was important, already guessing what her answer would be. With Charlie, less is always more.

"Bella said, certain of this fact. "Where are we going anyway?"

"The weather will be nice," I told her slowly, fighting the panic and indecision. How much would I regret this choice? "So I'll be staying out of the public eye, and you can stay with me if you'd like to."

Bella caught the significance at once. Her eyes were bright and eager. "And you'll show me what you meant about the sun?" Maybe, like so many times before, her reaction would be the opposite of what I expected. I smiled at the possibility, struggling to return to the lighter moment. "Yes," but she hadn't said yes. "But if you don't want to be alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

Her lips pressed together. She was offended. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle, just in population and physical size, but apparently your number wasn't up in Phoenix," I said, cutting off her justifications. "So I'd rather you stayed near me." She could stay forever, and it would not be long enough. I shouldn't think that way. We didn't have forever. The passing seconds counted more than they ever had before; each second changed her while I remained untouched, physically at least.

"As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you," she said. No, because her instincts were backward.

"I know," I sighed. "You should tell Charlie, though."

"Why in the world would I do that?" she asked, appalled by the idea. I glared at her, though the anger was, as usual, directed at myself. How I wished I had a different answer for her to give me, some small incentive to bring you back. "I—" I hissed. She should give me that much—one witness to compel me to be cautious. Bella swallowed loudly and stared at me for a long moment. What did she see?

"I think I'll take my chances," she said. Did she get some thrill out of risking her life, some shot of adrenaline she craved?

"Will you shut up?" Rosalie's mental scream peaked, breaking into my absorption. I saw what she thought of this conversation—of exactly how much Bella already knew. I glanced back automatically to see Rosalie glowering furiously, but I realized I simply did not care. Let her destroy the car; it was just a toy.

"Let's talk about something else," Bella suggested suddenly. I looked back at her, wondering how she could be so oblivious to what really counted. Why wouldn't she see me for the monster I was? Rosalie certainly did.

"What do you want to talk about?" Her eyes darted left and then right, as if checking to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. She must be planning to introduce another myth-related topic. Her gaze froze for a second, and her body stiffened, and then she looked back to me. Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend? To hunt. Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike because of bears. So oblivious.

I stared at her, raising one eyebrow. "Bears?" she gasped. I smiled. Riley, watching that sink in. Would this make her take me seriously? Would anything? Just tell her everything.

"It's not like we have rules," Rosalie's thoughts hissed at me. I struggled to not hear her. Bella pulled her expression together. "You know bears are not in season," she said severely, narrowing her eyes. "If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons." She lost control over her face again for a moment; her lips fell open. "Bears?" she said again, a tentative question this time rather than a gasp of shock.

"Grizzly is Emmett's favorite," I watched her eyes as she worked through the astonishment and recovered. "H," she murmured. She took a bite of the pizza, looking down. She chewed thoughtfully and then took a drink. "So," she said finally, looking up. "What's your favorite?"

I supposed I should have expected something like that, but I hadn't. "Mountain lion," I answered brusquely.

"Ah," she said in a neutral tone; her heartbeat continued steady and even, as if we were discussing a favorite restaurant. "Fine, then," if she wanted to act like this was nothing unusual. "Of course, we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting," I told her, my voice detached and clinical. "We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators, ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?"

She listened with a politely interested expression, as if I were a guide in a museum describing a painting. I had to smile. "Where indeed?" she murmured calmly, taking another bite of pizza. "Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season," I continued in the same tone. "They're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." Seventy years later, and he still hadn't gotten over losing that first match. "Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear."

Bella agreed, nodding solemnly. I couldn't hold back a chuckle as I shook my head at her illogical calm. It had to be put on. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please. I'm trying to picture it, but I can't," she said, the crease appearing between her eyes. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons," I told her, and then flashed her a wide smile. I expected her to recoil, but she was very still, watching me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting." She glanced toward the table where the others sat and shuddered, finally. And then I laughed at myself because I knew part of me was wishing she would stay oblivious. Her dark eyes were wide and deep as she stared at me.

"Now, are you like a bear too?" she asked in an almost whisper.

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," I told her, striving to sound detached again. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

Her lips pulled up a tiny bit at the corners. "Perhaps," she repeated, and then her head leaned to the side, and curiosity was easy to read in her eyes. "Is that something I might get to see?"

For a moment it was so clear in my head—Bella's crumpled, bloodless body in my arms, as though I were the one who had seen the vision rather than just watching it in Alice's mind. But I didn't need foresight to illustrate this horror; the conclusion was obvious.

"Absolutely not," I snarled at her. She jerked away from me, shocked and frightened by my sudden rage. I leaned back too, wanting to put space between us. She was never going to see, was she? She wouldn't do one thing to help me keep her alive.

"Too scary for me?" she asked, even voiced her heart; however, was still moving in double time. If that were it, I would take you out tonight. I retorted through my teeth. "You need a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

"Then why?" she demanded, undeterred. I glared at her blackly, waiting for her to be afraid. I was afraid. Her eyes remained curious, impatient, nothing more. She waited for her answer, not giving in, but our hour was up.

"Later," I snapped, and I rose to my feet. "We're going to be late." She looked around, disoriented, as though she'd forgotten we were at lunch, as though she'd forgotten we were even at school, and was surprised that we were not alone in some private place. I understood that feeling exactly; it was hard to remember the rest of the world when I was with her. She got up quickly, bobbling once, and threw her bag over her shoulder. "Later, then," she said, and I could see the determination in the set of her mouth. She would hold me to that.